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Class LB 10 4-3- 
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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOR 

TWO- TO SEVEN-YEAR-OLDS 



Experimental Stories Written for the Children of 

the City and Country School (formerly the Play 

School) and the Nursery School of the Bureau of 

Educational Experiments. 



BY 



LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL 



\* 




NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON fcf COMPANY 

681 FIFTH AVENUE 



COPYRIGHT, 1921, 

BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



All Rights Reserved 






OCT 27 1921 



Printed In tie United States of America 

0)C!.A627472 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword : By Caroline Pratt ix 

Introduction i 

Content: Its educational and psychological basis . . 4 

Form: Its patterns in words, sentences and stories 46 

Stories: 

Two-Year Olds: Types to be adjusted to individual 
children. Content, personal activities, told in 
motor and sense terms. Form reduced to a suc- 
cession of few simple patterns. 

Marni Takes a Ride 73 

Marni Gets Dressed in the Morning . . 81 

Three-Year-Olds: Content based on enumeration of 
familiar sense and motor associations and 
simple familiar chronological sequences. Some 
attempt to give opportunity for own contribu- 
tion or for "motor enjoyment." 

The Room with the Window Looking Out 

on the Garden .....> > . 89 

The Many Horse Stable ...>.. 99 

My Kitty . ,. y. . 105 

The Rooster and the Hens . >. . . . 109 

The Little Hen and the Rooster . . . 114 
v 



vi CONTENTS 

Jin 9 les: 

My Horse, Old Dan 115 

Horsie Goes Jog-a-Jog 118 

Auto, Auto 119 

Four- and Five-Y ear-Olds: Content, simple relation- 
ships between familiar moving objects, stressing 
particularly the idea of use. Emphasis on 
sound. Attempt to make verse patterns carry 
the significant points in the narrative. 

How Spot Found a Home 121 

The Dinner Horses 131 

The Grocery Man 137 

The Journey 141 

Pedro's Feet 147 

How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song 153 

The Fog Boat Story ........ 167 

Hammer, Saw, and Plane 177 

The Elephant 185 

How the Animals Move 189 

The Sea-Gull 192 

The Farmer Tries to Sleep 197 

Wonderful-Co w-That-Never-W as . . . 203 

Things that Loved the Lake 211 

How the Singing Water Got to the Tub . 219 

The Children's New Dresses .... 229 

Old Dan Gets the Coal 237 

Six- and S even-Year-Olds: Content, relationships 
further removed from the personal and im- 
mediate and extended to include social signif- 



CONTENTS vii 



PAGE 



icance of simple familiar facts. Longer-span 
pattern which has become organic with begin- 
ning, middle and end. 

The Subway Car 241 

Boris Takes a Walk and Finds Many Dif- 
ferent Kinds of Trains 251 

Boris Walks Every Way in New York . 267 

Speed 281 

Five Little Babies 291 

Once the Barn Was Full of Hay . . . 299 

The Wind 309 

The Leaf Story 315 

A Locomotive 320 

Moon, Moon 322 

Automobile Song 323 

Silly Will 325 

Eben's Cows 340 

• The Sky Scraper >. ... . . 353 



FOREWORD 

Our school has always assumed that children 
are interested in and will work with or give ex- 
pression to those things which are familiar to them. 
This is not new: the kindergarten gives domestic 
life a prominent place with little children. But 
with the kindergarten the present and familiar is 
abandoned in most schools and emphasis is placed 
upon that which is unfamiliar and remote. It is 
impossible to conceive of children working their 
own way from the familiar to the unknown unless 
they develop a method in understanding the 
familiar which will apply to the unfamiliar as 
well. This method is the method of art and 
science — the method of experimentation and in- 
quiry. We can almost say that children are born 
with it, so soon do they begin to show signs of 
applying it. As they have been in the past and 
as they are in the present to a very great extent, 
schools make no attempt to provide for this 
method; in fact they take pains to introduce an- 
other. They are disposed to set up a rigid pro- 
gram which answers inquiries before they are 



x FOREWORD 

made and supplies needs before they have been 
felt. 

We try to keep the children upon present day 
and familiar things until they show by their at- 
tack on materials and especially upon information 
that they are ready to work out into the unknown 
and unfamiliar. In the matter of stories and 
verse which fit into such a program we have al- 
ways felt an almost total void. Whether other 
schools feel this would depend upon their inten- 
tional program. Surely no school would advise 
giving classical literature without the setting 
which would make the stories and verse under- 
standable. It is a question whether the fact of 
desirable literature has not in the past and does 
not still govern our whole school program more 
than many educators would be willing to admit. 
What seems to be more logical is to set up that 
which is psychologically sound so far as we know 
it and create if need be a new literature to help 
support the structure. 

In the presence of art, schools have always taken 
a modest attitude. For some reason or other they 
seem to think it out of their province. They re- 
gard children as potential scientists, professional 
men and women, captains of industry, but scarcely 
potential artists. To what school of design, what 



FOREWORD xi 

academy of music, what school of literary produc- 
tion, do our common schools lead? We are not 
fitting our children to compose, to create, but at 
our best to appreciate and reproduce. 

Mrs. Mitchell as story teller in this new sense 
of writing stories, rather than merely telling them, 
is having an influence in the school which has not 
been altogether unlooked for. The children look 
upon themselves as composers in language and 
language thus becomes not merely a useful 
medium of expression but also an art medium. 
They regard their own content, gathered by them- 
selves in a perfectly familiar setting as fit for use 
as art material. That is, just as the children draw 
and show power to compose with crayons and 
paints, they use language to compose what they 
term stories or occasionally, verse. Often these 
"stories" are a mere rehearsal of experiences, but 
in so far as they are vivid and have some sort of 
fitting ending they pass as a childish art expres- 
sion just as their compositions in drawing do. 

So far as content is concerned the school gives 
the children varied opportunities to know and ex- 
press what they find in their environment. Mrs. 
Mitchell finds this content in the school. It is 
being used, it is even being expressed in language. 
What she particularly does is to show the possi- 



xii FOREWORD 

bility of using this same content as art in language. 
She does this both by writing stories herself and 
by helping the children to write. The children 
are not by any means read to, so much as they are 
encouraged to tell their own stories. These are 
taken down verbatim by the teachers of the 
younger groups. Through skilful handling of sev- 
eral of the older groups what the children call 
"group stories" are produced as well as individual 
ones. 

We hope this book will bring to parents and 
teachers what it has to us, a new method of ap- 
proach to literature for little children, and to chil- 
dren the joy our children have in the stories 
themselves. 

Caroline Pratt 
The City and Country School 
July, 1921 



HERE AND NOW STORY 
BOOK 

INTRODUCTION 

These stories are experiments, — experiments 
both in content and in form. They were written 
because of a deep dissatisfaction felt by a group 
of people working experimentally in a laboratory 
school, with the available literature for children. 
I am publishing them not because I feel they have 
come through to any particularly noteworthy 
achievement, but because they indicate a method 
of work which I believe to be sound where chil- 
dren are concerned. They must always be re- 
garded as experiments, but experiments which 
have been strictly limited to lines suggested to me 
by the children themselves. Both the stuff of the 
stories and the mould in which they are cast are 
based on suggestions gained directly from chil- 
dren. I have tried to put aside my notions of what 
was "childlike." I have tried to ignore what I, 
as an adult, like. I have tried to study children's 



2 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

interests not historically but through their present 
observations and inquiries, and their sense of form 
through their spontaneous expressions in language, 
and to model my own work strictly on these find- 
ings. I have forced myself throughout to be de- 
liberate, conscious, for fear I should slip back to 
adult habits of thought and expression. I can give 
here only samples of the many stories and ques- 
tions I have gathered from the children which 
form the basis of my own stories. Suffice it that 
my own stories attempt to follow honestly the leads 
which here and now the children themselves indi- 
cate in content and in form, no matter how difficult 
or strange the going for adult feet. 

First, as to the stuff of which the story is made, — 
the content. I have assumed that anything to 
which a child gives his spontaneous attention, any- 
thing which he questions as he moves around the 
world, holds appropriate material about which to 
talk to him either in speech or in writing. I have 
assumed that the answers to these his spontaneous 
inquiries should be given always in terms of a 
relationship which is natural and intelligible at 
his age and which will help him to order the 
familiar facts of his own experiences. Thus the 
answers will themselves lead him on to new in- 
quiries. For they will give him not so much new 



INTRODUCTION $ 

facts as a new method of attack. I have further 
assumed that any of this material which by taking 
on a pattern form can thereby enhance or deepen 
its intrinsic quality is susceptible of becoming 
literature. Material which does not lend itself to 
some sort of intentional design or form, may be 
good for informational purposes but not for stories 
as such. 

The task, then, is to examine first the things 
which get the spontaneous attention of a two-year- 
old, a three-year-old and so up to a seven-year- 
old; and then to determine what relationships are 
natural and intelligible at these ages. Obviously 
to determine the mere subject of attention is not 
enough. Children of all ages attend to engines. 
But the two-year-old attends to certain things and 
the seven-year-old to quite different ones. The 
relationships through which the two-year-old in- 
terprets his observations may make of the engine 
a gigantic extension of his own energy and move- 
ment; whereas the relationships through which the 
seven-year-old interprets his observations may 
make of the engine a scientific example of the ex- 
pansion of steam or of the desire of men to get 
rapidly from one place to another. What rela- 
tionship he is relying on we can get only by watch- 
ing the child's own activities. The second part 



4 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

of the task is to discover what is pattern to the 
untrained but unspoiled ears, eyes, muscles and 
minds of the little folk who are to consume the 
stories. Each part of the task has its peculiar diffi- 
culties. But fortunately in each, children do point 
the way if we have the courage to forget our own 
adult way and follow theirs. 

CONTENT 

In looking for content for these stories I fol- 
lowed the general lines of the school for which 
they were written. The school gives the children 
the opportunity to explore first their own environ- 
ment and gradually widens this environment for 
them along lines of their own inquiries. Conse- 
quently I did not seek for material outside the or- 
dinary surroundings of the children. On the 
contrary, I assumed that in stories as in other edu- 
cational procedure, the place to begin is the point 
at which the child has arrived, — to begin and lead 
out from. With small children this point is still 
within the "here" and the "now," and so stories 
must begin with the familiar and the immediate. 
But also stories must lead children out from the 
familiar and immediate, for that is the method 
both of education and of art. Here and now sto- 



INTRODUCTION 5 

ries mean to me stories which include the children's 
first-hand experiences as a starting point, not sto- 
ries which are literally limited to these experiences. 
Therefore to get my basis for the stories I went 
to the environment in which a child of each age 
naturally finds himself and there I watched him. 
I tried to see what in his home, in his school, in 
the streets, he seized upon and how he made this 
his own. I tried to determine what were the re- 
lationships he used to order his experiences. For- 
tunately for the purposes of writing stories I did 
not have to get behind the baffling eyes and the 
inscrutable sounds of a small baby. Yet I learned 
much for understanding the twos by watching even 
through the first months. What "the great, big, 
blooming, buzzing confusion" (as James describes 
it) means to an infant, I fancy we grown-ups 
will really never know. But I suppose we may 
be sure that existence is to him largely a stream 
of sense impressions. Also I suppose we are 
reasonably safe in saying that whatever the im- 
pression that reaches him he tends to translate it 
into action. At what age a child accomplishes 
what can be called a "thought" or what these first 
thoughts are, is surely beyond our present powers 
to describe. But that his early thoughts have a 
discernible muscular expression, I fancy we may 



6 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

say. It may well be that thought is merely asso- 
ciative memory as Loeb maintains. It may well 
be that behaviorists are right and that thought is 
just "the rhythmic mimetic rehearsal of the first 
hand experience in motor terms." If the act of 
thinking is itself motor, its expression is somewhat 
attenuated in adults. Be that as it may, a small 
child's expressions are still in unmistakable motor 
terms. It is obviously through the large muscles 
that a baby makes his responses. And even a three- 
year-old can scarcely think "engine" without show- 
ing the pull of his muscles and the puff-puffing of 
exertion. Nor can he observe an object without 
making some movement towards it. He takes in 
through his senses; and he interprets through his 
muscles. 

For our present purposes this characteristic has 
an important bearing. The world pictured for the 
child must be a world of sounds and smells and 
tastes and sights and feeling and contacts. Above 
all his early stories must be of activities and they 
must be told in motor terms. Often we are tempted 
to give him reasons in response to his incessant 
"why?" but when he asks "why?" he really is 
not searching for reasons at all. A large part of 
the time he is not even asking a question. He 
merely enjoys this reciperative form of speech and 



INTRODUCTION 7 

is indignant if your answer is not what he expects. 
One of my children enjoyed this antiphonal 
method of following his own thoughts to such an 
extent that for a time he told his stories in the 
form of questions telling me each time what to 
answer! His questions had a social but no scien- 
tific bearing. And even when a three-year-old asks 
a real question he wants to be answered in terms 
of action or of sense impressions and not in terms 
of reasons why. How could it be otherwise since 
he still thinks with his senses and his muscles and 
not with that generalizing mechanism which con- 
ceives of cause and effect? The next time a three- 
year-old asks you "why you put on shoes?" see if 
he likes to be told "Mother wears shoes when she 
goes out because it is cold and the sidewalks are 
hard," or if he prefers, "Mother's going to go out- 
doors and take a big bus to go and buy something:" 
or "You listen and in a minute you'll hear mother's 
shoes going pat, pat, pat downstairs and then you'll 
hear the front door close bang! and mother won't 
be here any more!" "Why?" really means, "please 
talk to me!" and naturally he likes to be talked to 
in terms he can understand which are essentially 
sensory and motor. 

Now what activities are appropriate for the first 
stories? I think the answer is clear. His, the 



8 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

child's, own! The first activities which a child 
knows are of course those of his own body move- 
ments whether spontaneous or imposed upon him 
by another. Everything is in terms of himself. 
Again I think none of us would like to hazard a 
guess as to when the child comes through to a sharp 
distinction between himself and other things or 
other persons. But we are sure, I think, that this 
distinction is a matter of growth which extends 
over many years and that at two, three, and even 
four, it is imperfectly apprehended. We all know 
how long a child is in acquiring a correct use of 
the pronouns "me" and "you." And we know that 
long after he has this language distinction, he still 
calls everything he likes "mine." "This is my cow, 
this is my tree!" The only way to persuade him 
that it is not his is to call it some one else's. Pos- 
sessed it must be. He knows the world only in 
personal terms. That is, his early sense of 
relationship is that of himself to his concrete 
environment. This later evolves into a sense of 
relationship between other people and their con- 
crete environment. 

At first, then, a child can not transcend himself 
or his experiences. Nor should he be asked to. 
A two-year-old's stories must be completely his 



INTRODUCTION 9 

stories with his own familiar little person moving 
in his own familiar background. They should 
vivify and deepen the sense of the one relationship 
he does feel keenly, — that of himself to something 
well-known. Now a two-year-old's range of ex- 
periences is not large. At least the experiences in 
which he takes a real part are not many. So his 
stories must be of his daily routine, — his eating, 
his dressing, his activities with his toys and his 
home. These are the things to which he attends : 
they make up his world. And they must be his 
very own eating and dressing and home, and not 
eating and dressing and homes in general. Stories 
which are not intimately his own, I believe either 
pass by or strain a two-year-old; and I doubt 
whether many three-year-olds can participate with 
pleasure and without strain in any experience 
which has not been lived through in person. He 
may of course get pleasure from the sound of the 
story apart from its meaning much earlier. Just 
now we are thinking solely of the content. I well 
remember the struggles of my three-year-old boy 
to get outside himself and view a baby chicken's 
career objectively. He checked up each step in 
my story by this orienting remark, "That the baby 
chicken in the shell, not me! The baby chicken 



10 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

go scritch-scratch, not me!" Was not this an 
evident effort to comprehend an extra-personal 
relationship? 

Again just as at first a small child can not get 
outside himself, so he can not get outside the im- 
mediate. At first he can not by himself recall even 
a simple chronological sequence. He is still in 
the narrowest, most limiting sense, too entangled 
in the "here" and the "now." The plot sense 
emerges slowly. Indeed there is slight plot value 
in most children's stories up to eight years. Plot 
is present in embryonic form in the omnipresent 
personal drama: "Where's baby? Peek-a-boo! 
There she is!" It can be faintly detected in the 
pleasure a child has in an actual walk. But the 
pleasure he derives from the sense of complete- 
ness, the sense that a walk or a story has a begin- 
ning and a middle and an end, the real plot 
pleasure, is negligible compared with the pleasure 
he gets in the action itself. Small children's ex- 
periences are and should be pretty much continu- 
ous flows of more or less equally important 
episodes. Their stories should follow their experi- 
ences. They should have no climaxes, no sense of 
completion. The episodes should be put together 
more like a string of beads than like an organic 
whole. Almost any section of a child's experience 



INTRODUCTION II 

related in simple chronological sequence makes a 
satisfactory story. 

This can be pressed even further. There is an- 
other kind of relationship by which little children 
interpret their environment. It is the early mani- 
festation of the associational process which in our 
adult life so largely crowds out the sensory and 
motor appreciation of the world. It runs way back 
to the baby's pleasure in recognizing things, cer- 
tainly long before the period of articulate ques- 
tions. We all retain vestiges of this childlike 
pleasure in our joyful greeting of a foreign word 
that is understood or in any new application of 
an old thought or design. As a child acquires a 
few words he adds the pleasure of naming, — an 
extension of the pleasure of recognition. This 
again develops into the joy of enumerating objects 
which are grouped together in some close associa- 
tion, usually physical juxtaposition. For instance a 
two- or three-year-old likes to have every article he 
ate for breakfast rehearsed or to have every mem- 
ber of the family named at each episode in a story 
which concerns the group! Earlier he likes to 
have his five little toes checked off as pigs or 
merely numbered. This is closely tied up with 
the child's pattern sense which we shall discuss at 
length under "Form." Now the pleasure of 



12 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

enumeration, like that of a refrain, is in part at 
least a pleasure in muscle pattern. My two-year- 
old daughter composed a song which well illus- 
trates the fascination of enumeration. The refrain 
"Tick-tock" was borrowed from a song which had 
been sung to her. 

"Tick-tock 

Marni's nose, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's eyes, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's mouth, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's teeth, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's chin, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's romper, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's stockings, 
Tick-tock 

Marni's shoes," etc., etc. 

This she sang day after day, enumerating such 
groups as her clothes, the objects on the mantel and 
her toys. Walt Whitman has given us glorified 



INTRODUCTION 13 

enumerations of the most astounding vitality. If 
some one would only pile up equally vigorous ones 
for children! But it is not easy for an adult to 
gather mere sense or motor associations without a 
plot thread to string them on. The children's re- 
sponse to the two I have attempted in this collec- 
tion, "Old Dan" and "My Kitty," make me eager 
to see it tried more commonly. 

All this means that the small child's attention 
and energy are absorbed in developing a technique 
of observation and control of his immediate sur- 
roundings. The functioning of his senses and his 
muscles engrosses him. Ideally his stories should 
happen currently along with the experience they 
relate or the object they reproduce, merely deepen- 
ing the experience by giving it some pleasurable 
expression. At first the stories will have to be of 
this running and partly spontaneous type. But 
soon a child will like to have the story to recall an 
experience recently enjoyed. The living over of 
a walk, a ride, the sight of a horse or a cow, will 
give him a renewed sense of participation in a 
pleasurable activity. This is his first venture in 
vicarious experiences. And he must be helped to 
it through strong sense and muscular recalls. I 
have felt that these fairly literal recalls of every 



14 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

day details did deepen his sense of relationships 
since by himself he cannot recapture these familiar 
details even in a simple chronological sequence. 

But if stories for a two or a three-year-old need 
to be of himself they must be written especially 
for him. Those written for another two-year-old 
may not fit. Consequently the first three stories in 
this collection are given as types rather than as 
independent narratives. "Marni Takes a Ride" is 
so elementary in its substance and its form as to be 
hardly recognizable as a "story" at all. And yet 
the appeal is the same as in the more developed 
narratives. It falls between the embryonic story 
stage of "Peek-a-boo!" and Marni's second story. 
It was first told during the actual ride. Repeated 
later it seemed to give the child a sense of adven- 
ture, — an inclusion of and still an extension of 
herself beyond the "here" and "now" which is the 
essence of a story. Both of Marni's stories are 
given as types for a mother to write for her two- 
year-old; the "Room with the Window in It" 
(written for the Play School group) is given as a 
type for a teacher to write for her three-year-old 
group. 

I cannot leave the subject of the "familiar" for 
children without looking forward a few years. 
This process of investigating and trying to control 



INTRODUCTION 15 

his immediate surroundings, this appreciation of 
the world through his senses and his muscles, does 
not end when the child has gained some sense of 
his own self as distinguished from the world, — 
of the "me" and the "not me," — or achieved some 
ability to expand temporarily the "here" and the 
"now" into the "there" and the "then." The process 
is a precious one and should not be interrupted and 
confused by the interjection of remote or imper- 
sonal material. He still thinks and feels primarily 
through his own immediate experiences. If this is 
interfered with he is left without his natural 
material for experimentation for he cannot yet 
experiment easily in the world of the intangible. 
Moreover to the child the familiar is the interest- 
ing. And it remains so I believe through that 
transition period, — somewhere about seven years, 
— when the child becomes poignantly aware of the 
world outside his own immediate experience, — of 
an order, physical or social, which he does not 
determine, and so gradually develops a sense of 
standards of what is to be expected in the world of 
nature or of his fellows along with a sense of work- 
manship. It is only the blind eye of the adult that 
finds the familiar uninteresting. The attempt to 
amuse children by presenting them with the 
strange, the bizarre, the unreal, is the unhappy 



16 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

result of this adult blindness. Children do not 
find the unusual piquant until they are firmly 
acquainted with the usual; they do not find the 
preposterous humorous until they have intimate 
knowledge of ordinary behavior; they do not get 
the point of alien environments until they are se- 
curely oriented in their own. Too often we 
mistake excitement for genuine interest and give 
the children stimulus instead of food. The fairy 
story, the circus, novelty hunting, delight the 
sophisticated adult; they excite and confuse the 
child. Red Riding-Hood and circus Indians ex- 
cite the little child ; Cinderella confuses him. Not 
one clarifies any relationship which will further 
his efforts to order the world. Nonsense when 
recognized and enjoyed as such is more than legiti- 
mate ; it is a part of every one's heritage. But non- 
sense which is confused with reality is vicious, — 
the more so because its insinuations are subtle. 
So far as their content is concerned, it is chiefly 
as a protest against this confusing presentation of 
unreality, this substitution of excitement for legiti- 
mate interest, that these stories have been written. 
It is not that a child outgrows the familiar. It is 
rather that as he matures, he sees new relationships 
in the old. If our stories would follow his lead, 
they should not seek for unfamiliar and strange 



INTRODUCTION 17 

stuff in intrigue him; they should seek to deepen 
and enrich the relationships by which he is dimly 
groping to comprehend and to order his familiar 
world. 

But to return to the younger children. Children 
of four are not nearly so completely ego-centric as 
those of three. There has seemed to me to be a 
distinct transition at this age to a more objective 
way of thinking. A four-year-old does not to the 
same extent have to be a part of every situation he 
conceives of. Ordinarily, too, he moves out from 
his own narrowly personal environment into a 
slightly wider range of experiences. Now, what 
in this wider environment gets his spontaneous at- 
tention? What does he take from the street life, 
for instance, to make his own? Surely it is moving 
things. He is still primarily motor in his interest 
and expression and remains so certainly up to six 
years. Engines, boats, wagons with horses, all ani- 
mals, his own moving self, — these are the things 
he notices and these are the things he interprets 
in his play activities. Transportation and animals 
and himself. Do not these pretty well cover the 
field of his interests? If conceived of as motor 
and personal do they not hold all the material a 
four- or five-year-old needs for stories? If we bring 
in inanimate unmoving things, we must do with 



18 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

them what he does. We must endow them with 
life and motion. We need not be afraid of 
personification. This is the age when anthro- 
pomorphism flourishes. The five-year-old is still 
motor; his conception of cause is still personal. He 
thinks through his muscles; he personifies in his 
thought and his play. 

Nevertheless there is very real danger in anthro- 
pomorphism, — in thus leaving the world of reality. 
There is danger of confusing the child. We must 
be sure our personifications are built on relation- 
ships which our child can understand and which 
have an objective validity. We must be sure that 
a wolf remains a wolf and an engine an engine, 
though endowed with human speech. 

Now, what are the typical relationships which 
a four- or five-year-old uses to bind together his 
world into intelligible experiences? We have al- 
ready noted the personal relationship which per- 
sists in modified form. But does not the grouping 
of things because of physical juxtaposition now 
give way to a conception of "Use"? Does he not 
think of the world largely in terms of active func- 
tioning? Has not the typical question of this age 
become "What's it for?" Even his early defini- 
tions are in terms of use which has a strong motor 
implication. "A table is to eat off"; "a spoon is to 



INTRODUCTION 19 

eat in"; "a river means where you get drinks out 
of water, and catch fish, and throw stones." (Wad- 
dle: Introduction to Child Psychology, p. 170.) 
It was only consistent with his general conception 
of relationships in the world to have a little boy 
of my acquaintance examine a very small man sit- 
ting beside him in the subway and then turn to 
his father with the question, "What is that little 
man for?" 

Stories which are offered to small children must 
be assessed from this two-fold point of view. What 
relationships are they based on? And in what 
terms are they told? Fairy stories should not be 
exempted. We are inclined to accept them un- 
critically, feeling that they do not cramp a child 
as does reality. We cling to the idea that children 
need a fairy world to "cultivate their imagina- 
tions." In the folk tales we are intrigued by the 
past, — by the sense that these embodiments of 
human experience, having survived the ages, 
should be exempt from modern analysis. If, how- 
ever, we do commit the sacrilege of looking at them 
alongside of our educational principles, I think we 
find a few precious ones that stand the test. For 
children under six, however, even these precious 
few contribute little in content, but much through 
their matchless form. On the other hand, we find 



20 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

that many of the human experiences which these 
old tales embody are quite unsuitable for four- and 
five-year-olds. Cruelty, trickery, economic in- 
equality, — these are experiences which have 
shaped and shaken adults and alas! still continue 
to do so. But do we wish to build them into a 
four-year-old's thinking? Some of these experi- 
ences run counter to the trends of thinking we are 
trying to establish in other ways ; some merely con- 
fuse them. We seem to identify imagination with 
gullibility or vague thinking. But surely true 
imagination is not based on confusion. Imagina- 
tion is the basis of art. But confused art is a 
contradiction of terms. 

Now, the ordinary fairy tale which is the chief 
story diet of the four- and five-year-olds, I believe 
does confuse them; not because it does not stick to 
reality (for neither do the children) but because 
it does not deal with the things with which they 
have had first-hand experience and does not at- 
tempt to present or interpret the world according 
to the relationships which the child himself em- 
ploys. Rather it gives the child material which he 
is incapable of handling. Much in these tales is 
symbolic and means to the adult something quite 
different from what it bears on its face. And 
much, I believe, is confused even to the grown-up. 



INTRODUCTION 21 

Now a confused adult does not make a child ! Nor 
does it ever help a child to give him confusion. 
When my four-year-old personified a horse for one 
whole summer, he lived the actual life of a horse 
as far as he knew it. His bed was always "a stall," 
his food was always "hay," he always brushed his 
"mane" and "put on his harness" for breakfast. It 
was only when real horse information gave out 
that he supplied experiences from his own life. 
He was not limited by reality. He was exercising 
his imagination. This is quite different from the 
adult mixtures of the animal, the social, and the 
moral worlds. Does not Cinderella interject a 
social and economic situation which is both con- 
fusing and vicious? Does not Red Riding-Hood 
in its real ending plunge the child into an inap- 
propriate relationship of death and brutality or in 
its "happy ending" violate all the laws that can be 
violated in regard to animal life? Does not "Jack 
and the Beanstalk" delay a child's rationalizing of 
the world and leave him longer than is desirable 
without the beginnings of scientific standards? 
The growth of the sense of reality is a growth of 
the sense of relations. From the time when the 
child begins to relate isolated experiences, when 
he groups together associations, when he begins to 
note the sequence, the order of things, from this 



22 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

time he is beginning to think scientifically. It is 
preeminently the function of education to further 
the growth of the sense of reality, to give the child 
the sense of relationship between facts, material or 
social: that is, to further scientific conceptions. 
Stories, if they are to be a part of an educational 
process, must also further the growth of the sense 
of reality, must help the child to interpret the re- 
lationships in the world around him and help him 
to develop a scientific process of thinking. It is 
not important that he know this or that particular 
fact; it is important that he be able to fit any par- 
ticular fact into a rational scheme of thought. Ac- 
cordingly, the relationships which a story clarifies 
are of much greater import than the facts it gives. 
All this, of course, concerns the content of stories — 
the intentional material it presents to the child 
and has nothing to do with the pleasure of the pres- 
entation, — the relish which comes from the form 
of the story. I do not wish this to be interpreted 
to mean that I think all fairy stories forever harm- 
ful. From the beginning innocuous tales like the 
"Gingerbread Man" should be given for the pat- 
tern as should the "Old Woman and Her Pig." 
Moreover, after a child is somewhat oriented in 
the physical and social world, say at six or seven, — 
I think he can stand a good deal of straight fairy 



INTRODUCTION 23 

lore. It will sweep him with it. He will relish 
the flight the more for having had his feet on the 
ground. But for brutal tales like Red Riding- 
Hood or for sentimental ones like Cinderella I find 
no place in any child's world. Obviously, fairy 
stories cannot be lumped and rejected en masse. 
I am merely pleading not to have them accepted en 
masse on the ground that they "have survived the 
ages" and "cultivate the imagination." For a 
child's imagination, since it is his native endow- 
ment, will surely flourish if he is given freedom 
for expression, without calling upon the stimulus 
of adult fancies. It is only the jaded adult mind, 
afraid to trust to the children's own fresh springs 
of imagination, that feels for children the need of 
the stimulus of magic. 

The whole question of myths and sagas together 
with the function of personification must be taken 
up with the older children. For the present we 
are still concerned with four- and five-year-olds. 
Two sets of stories told by four- and five-year-old 
children in the school seem to me to show what 
emphasizing unrealities may do at this age. The 
first child in each set is thinking disjunctively; 
the second has his facts organized into definite re- 
lationships. Can one think that the second child 
enjoyed his ordered world less than the first en- 
joyed his confusion? 



24 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Two Stories by Four-Year-Olds 

Once there was a table and he was taking a walk 
and he fell into a pond of water and an alligator bit 
him and then he came up out of the pond of water 
and he stepped into a trap that some hunters had set 
for him, and turned a somersault on his nose. 



There was a new engine and it didn't have any 
headlight — its light wasn't open in its headlight so 
its engineer went and put some fire in the wires and 
made a light. And then it saw a lot of other engines 
on the track in front of it. So when it wanted to puff 
smoke and go fast it told its engineer and he put some 
coal in the coal car. And then the other engines told 
their engineers to put coal in their coal cars and then 
they all could go. 

(The child then played a song by a " 'lectric" 
engine on the piano and tried to write the notes.) 

Two Stories by Five-Year-Olds 

Once upon a time there was a clown and the clown 
jumped on the bed and the bed jumped on the cup. 
Then the clown took a pencil and drawed on his face. 
And the clown said, "Oh, I guess I'll sit in a rocking 
chair." So the rocking chair said, "Ha! ha!" and it 
tumbled away. Then a little pig came along and he 
said, "Could you throw me up and throw an apple 
down?" So the clown threw him so far that he was 
dead. He was on the track. 



INTRODUCTION 25 

There was a big factory where all the men made 
engines. And one man made a smoke stack. And one 
man made a tender. And one man made a cab. And 
one man made a bell. And one man made a wheel. 
And then another man came and put them all together 
and made a great big engine. And this man said, 
"We haven't any tracks I" And then a man came and 
made the tracks. And then another man said, "We 
haven't any station !" So many men came and built a 
big station. And they said, "Let's have the station 
in Washington Square." So they pulled down the 
Arch and they pulled up all the sidewalks. And they 
built a big station. And they left all the houses; for 
where would we live else? 

(In a sequel he says: So they knocked down the 
Arch and chopped up all the pieces. And they chopped 
all around the trees but they didn't chop them down 
because they looked so pretty with our station!) 

I am far from meaning that five-year-olds 
should be confined to their literal experiences. 
They have made considerable progress in separat- 
ing themselves from their environment though at 
times they seem still to think of the things around 
them more or less as extensions of themselves. 
Their inquiries still emanate from their own per- 
sonal experiences; but they do not end there. A 
child of this age has a genuine curiosity about 
where things come from and where they go to. 
"What's it for?" indeed, implies a dim conception 



26 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

beyond the "here" and the "now," a conception 
which his stories should help him to clarify. If 
we try to escape the pitfall of "fairy stories," — 
abandoning a child in unrealities, — we must not 
fall into the opposite pitfall and continue the easy 
habit of merely recounting a series of events, 
neither significant in themselves nor, as in the 
earlier years, significant because they are personal 
experiences. "Arabella and Araminta" and their 
like give a five-year-old no real food. They are 
saved, if saved they are, not by their content, but 
by a daring and skilful use of repetition and of 
sound quality. No, our stories must add some- 
thing to the children's knowledge and must take 
them beyond the "here" and the "now." But this 
"something," as I have already said, is not so much 
new information as it is a new relationship among 
already familiar facts. 

In each of the stories for four- and five-year-olds 
I have attempted to clarify known facts by show- 
ing them in a relationship a little beyond the chil- 
dren's own experience. All the stories came from 
definite inquiries raised by some child. They at- 
tempt to answer these inquiries and to raise others. 
"How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song," 
"The Fog Boat Story," "Hammer and Saw and 
Plane," "How the Singing Water Gets to the 



INTRODUCTION 27 

Tub," "Things That Loved the Lake," "The Chil- 
dren's New Dresses," "How Animals Move," — all 
are based on definite relationships, largely phys- 
ical, between simple physical facts. 

Interest in these relationships, — inquiries which 
hold the germ of physical science, continue and 
increase with each year. In addition, a little later, 
children seem to begin questioning things social 
and to be ready for the simpler social relationships 
which underlie and determine the physical world 
of their acquaintance. "What's it for?" still domi- 
nates, but a six-year-old is on the way to becom- 
ing a conscious member of society. He now likes 
his answers to be in human terms. He takes 
readily to such conceptions as congestion as the 
cause for subways and elevated trains; the desire 
for speed as the cause of change in transportation; 
the dependence of man on other living things, — 
all of which I have made the bases of stories. To 
the children the material in "The Subway Car," 
"Speed," "Silly Will," is familiar; the relation- 
ships in which it appears are new. 

Somewhere about seven years, there seems to be 
another transition period. Psychologists, whether 
in or out of schools, generally agree in this. Chil- 
dren of this age are acquiring a sense of social 
values. — a consciousness of others as sharply dis- 



28 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

tinguished from themselves. They are also ac- 
quiring a sense of workmanship, of technique, — 
of things as sharply distinguished from them- 
selves. They seek information in and for itself, — 
not merely in its immediate application to them- 
selves. Their inquiries take on the character of 
"how?" This means, does it not, that the children 
have oriented themselves in their narrow personal 
world and that they are reaching out for experi- 
ence in larger fields? It means that the "not-me" 
which was so shadowy in the earlier years has 
gained in social and in physical significance. And 
this again means that opportunity for exploration 
in ever-widening circles should be given. Stories 
should follow this general trend and open up the 
relationships in larger and larger environments 
until at last a child is capable of seeing relation- 
ships for himself and of regarding the whole world 
in its infinite physical and social complexity, as his 
own environment. 

Probably the first extra-personal excursions 
should be into alien scenes or experiences which 
lead back or contribute directly to their old 
familiar world. Stories of unknown raw material 
which turn into well-known products are of this 
type, — cattle raising in Texas, dairy farms in New 
England, lumbering in Minnesota, sheep raising 



INTRODUCTION 29 

in California. It is a happy coincidence that raw 
materials are often produced under semi-primitive 
conditions, so that a vicarious participation in their 
production gives to children something of that 
thrilling contact with the elemental that does the 
life of primitive men, and this without sending 
them into the remote and, for modern children, 
"unnatural" world of unmodified nature. The 
danger here is that the story will be sacrificed to 
the information. Indeed it can hardly be other- 
wise, if the aim is to give an adequate picture of 
some process of production. This, of course, is a 
legitimate aim, — but for the encyclopedia, not for 
the story. What I have in mind is a dramatic sit- 
uation which has this process as a background, 
so that the child becomes interested in the process 
because of the part it plays in the drama just as he 
would if the process were a background in his own 
life. I am thinking of the opportunities which 
these comparatively primitive situations give for 
adventure rather than for the detailed elucidation 
of a process of production. 

It is the peculiar function of a story to raise 
inquiries, not to give instruction. A story must 
stimulate not merely inform. This is the trouble 
with our "informational literature" for children, 
of which very little is worthy of the name. In- 



30 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

deed, I am not sure it is not a contradiction of 
terms. It is frankly didactic. It aims to make 
clear certain facts, not to stimulate thought. It 
assumes that if a child swallows a fact it must 
nourish him. To give the child material with 
which to experiment, — this lies outside its present 
range. Reaction from the unloveliness of this 
didactic writing has produced a distressing result. 
The misunderstood and misapplied educational 
principle that children's work should interest them 
has developed a new species of story, — a sort of 
pseudo-literary thing in which the medicinal facts 
are concealed by various sugar-coating devices. 
Children will take this sort of story, — what will 
their eager little minds not take? And like en- 
cyclopedias and other books of reference this type 
has its place in a child's world. But it should 
never be confused with literature. 

Literature must give a sense of adventure. This 
sense of adventure, of excursion into the unknown, 
must be furnished to children of every age. As I 
have said before, I think "Peek-a-boo, there's the 
baby!" is the elementary expression of this love 
of adventure. The baby disappears into the un- 
known vastness behind the handkerchief and to 
her, her reappearance is a thrilling experience. 
Children's stories, — as indeed all stories, — have 



INTRODUCTION 31 

been largely founded on this. The "Prudy" and 
"Dotty Dimple" books though keyed so low in 
the scale seem adventurous because of the meagre 
background of their young readers. But children 
of the age we are considering, — who have left the 
narrowly personal and predominantly play period 
demand something higher in the scale of adven- 
ture. To them are offered the great variety of 
tales of adventure and danger of which the boy 
scout is the latest example. Every child in read- 
ing these becomes a hero. And every child (and 
grown-up) enjoys being a hero. Higher still 
comes "Kidnapped" and so up to Stanley Weyman 
and "The Three Musketeers" which differ in their 
art, not in their appeal. 

Now is it not possible to give children these ad- 
venturous excursions which they crave and should 
have, without so much killing of animals or men, 
and so many blood-thirsty excitements, and so much 
fake heroism? What relationships do such tales 
interpret? What truths do they give a child upon 
which to base his thinking? The relation of life 
to life is a delicate and difficult thing to interpret. 
But surely we can do better at an interpretation 
than tales of hunting, of impossible heroisms, and 
of war. Or at least, we can protest against having 
these almost the sole interpretations of adventure 



32 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

which are offered to children. The world of in- 
dustry holds possibilities for adventure as thrilling 
as the world of high-colored romance. We must 
look with fresh eyes to see it. When once we see 
it, we shall be able to give the children a new type 
of the "story of adventure." Of all the experi- 
ments which the stories in this collection repre- 
sent, this attempt to find and picture the romance 
and adventure in our world here and now, I con- 
sider the most important and difficult. In such 
stories as "Boris" and "Eben's Cows" and "The 
Sky Scraper," I have made experimental attempts 
to give children a sense of adventure by present- 
ing social relations in this new way. 

The cultured world has yet another answer to 
the question, "How shall we give our children 
adventure?" It points to the wealth of classical 
myths, of Iliads, sagas, of fairy-stories which are 
practically folk-lore, semi-magic, semi-allegorical, 
semi-moral tales which express the ideals and ex- 
periences of a different and younger world than 
ours of today. And it replies, "Give them these." 
It feels in the sternness of saga stuff and in the 
humanity of folk-lore, a validity and a dignity and 
a simplicity which seem to make them suitable for 
children. These tales tell of beliefs of folk less 
experienced than we: we have outgrown them. 



INTRODUCTION 33 

They must be suited to the less experienced : give 
them to children. Thus runs the common argu- 
ment. And so we find Hawthorne's "Tanglewood 
Tales," iEsop's "Fables," various Indian myths 
and Celtic legends, and even the "Niebelungen 
Lied" often given to quite young children. But 
do we find this reasoning valid when we examine 
these tales free from the glamour which adult 
sophistication casts around them? Remember we 
are thinking now of children in that delicate seven- 
to eight-year-old transition period. I have already 
told how I believe these children are but just be- 
ginning to have conceptions of laws, — social and 
physical. They are groping their way, regiment- 
ing their experiences, seeing dim generalizations 
and abstractions. But they are not firmly oriented. 
They are beginners in the world of physical or 
social science and can be easily side-tracked or 
confused. A child of twelve or even ten is quite 
a different creature, often with clear if not articu- 
late conceptions of the make-up of the physical 
and human world. He has something to measure 
against, some standards to cling to. But we are 
talking about children still in the early plastic 
stages of standards who will take the relationships 
we offer them through stories and build them into 
the very fabric of their thinking. 



34 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Now, how much of the classical literature fol- 
lows the lead of the children's own inquiries? 
How much of it stimulates fruitful inquiries? 
What are the relationships which sagas, myths and 
folk-lore interpret? And what are the interpreta- 
tions? This is a vast question and can be an- 
swered only briefly with the full consciousness that 
there is much lumping of dissimilar material with 
resulting injustices and superficiality. Also there 
is no attempt to use the words "myth," "saga" and 
"folk-lore" in technical senses.* I have merely 
taken the dominant characteristic of any piece of 
literature as determining its class. 

Myths, properly, are slow-wrought beliefs 
which embody a people's effort to understand their 
relations to the great unknown. They are essen- 
tially religious, symbolic, mystic, subtle, full of 
fears and propitiations, involved, often based on 
the forgotten, — altogether unlike in their approach 
to the ingenuous and confident child. They are 
full of the struggle of life. Hardly before the in- 
volved introspections and theories of adolescence 
can we expect the real beauty and poignancy of a 
genuine myth to be even dimly understood. And 

* For a clear exposition of this field of literature for children see 
"Literature in the Elementary School," by Porter Lander Mac- 
Clintock, University of Chicago Press, 1907. 



INTRODUCTION 35 

why offer the shell without the spirit? It is likely 
to remain a shell forever if we do. And indeed, 
such an empty thing to most of us is the great myth 
of Prometheus or of the Garden of Eden. 

But sagas! Are they not of exactly the heroic 
stuff for little children? In essence the relation- 
ships with which they deal are human, — social. 
The story of Siegfried, of Achilles, of Abraham, — 
these are great sagas. Each is a tremendous pic- 
ture of a human experience, the first two under 
heroic, enlarged conditions, the last under a human 
culture picturesquely different from our own. But 
even as straight tales of adventure they do not carry 
for little children. The environment is too remote, 
the world to be conquered too unknown to carry 
a convincing sense of heroism to small children. 
The same is true of the heroic tales of romance, — 
of Arthur and all the legends which cluster around 
his name. Magic, the children will get from these 
tales but little else. But if the tales should succeed 
in taking a child with them in their strange ex- 
ploits into a strange land, they would surely fail to 
take him into the turgid human drama they pic- 
ture. And as surely we should wish them to fail. 
The sagas, like most genuine folk-lore deal with 
the great elemental human facts, life and death, 
love, sexual passion and its consequences, mar- 



36 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

riage, motherhood, fatherhood. We grasp at them 
for our children, I believe, just because they deal 
with these fundamental things, — the very things 
we are afraid of unless they come to us concealed 
in strange clothing. But what kind of a founda- 
tion for interpreting these great elemental facts 
will the stories of Achilles and Briseus, of Jason 
and Medea, Pluto and Proserpina, of Guinevere 
and Launcelot make? What do we expect a child 
to get from these pictures of sexual passion on 
the part of the man, — even though a god, — and 
of social dependence of woman? Do Greek 
draperies make prostitution suitable for children? 
Does the glamour of chivalry explain illicit love? 
Most parents and schools who unhesitatingly hand 
over these social pictures to their children have 
never tried, — and neither care nor dare to try, — 
to face these elemental facts with their children. 
Can we really wish to avoid a frank statement of 
the positive in sex relations, of the facts of parent- 
hood, of the institution of marriage, of the mutual 
companionship between man and woman, and give 
the negative, the unfulfilled, the distorted? This 
is preposterous and no one would uphold it. It 
must be the beauty of the tale, and not the signifi- 
cance we are after. But are these tales beautiful 
except as we endow them with the subtleties of a 



INTRODUCTION 37 

classical civilization, as we read into them piquant 
contrasts of a sensitive, expressive race still primi- 
tive in its social thinking and social habits, — that 
elusive thing which we mean by "Greek"? And 
can children get this without its background, par- 
ticularly as they have yet no social background 
in their own world to hold it up against? And can 
children do any better with the perplexing ideals 
of the chivalrous knight swept by a human pas- 
sion? 

And in the same way can a child really get the 
beauty of Siegfried? What can he make out of 
the incestuous love of Siegmund and Sieglinda? 
And of Siegfried's naive passion on his first 
glimpse of a woman? What do we want him to 
make of it? Is that the way we wish to introduce 
him to sex? And as for the rest, the allegory of the 
ring itself, the sword, the dragon's blood, what do 
little children get from this except the excitement 
of magic? What we get because of what we have 
to put into it, is a different matter and should never 
be confused with the straight question of what chil- 
dren get. Outgrown adult thinking in social mat- 
ters is no more suitable to children than outgrown 
thinking on physical facts. We do not teach that 
the world is flat because grown-ups once believed 
it was. We are not afraid of a round earth so we 



38 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

tell the truth about it. But we come near to teach- 
ing "spontaneous generation" with our endless 
evasions. We are afraid of a reproducing world, 
and so we fall back on curious mixtures of sex 
fables, — on storks and fairy godmothers and leave 
the mysteries of sex to be interpreted by Achilles 
and Siegfried and Guinevere! To emasculate 
these tales is to insult them, — to strip them of 
their significance and individuality. Is it not 
wiser to wait until children will not be confused 
by all their straight vigor and beauty? 

There is other folk-lore less gripping in its 
human intensity. Through this may not children 
safely gain their needed adventures? And here 
we come again to the real "Marchen," — the fairy 
tales. They take us into a lovely world of un- 
reality where magic and luck hold sway and where 
the child is safe from human problems and from 
scientific laws alike. I have already said in talk- 
ing of the younger children that I feel it unsafe 
to loose a child in this unsubstantial world before 
he is fairly well grounded in a sense of reality. 
Once he has his bearings there is a good deal he 
will enjoy without confusion. The common de- 
fense that the mystery of fairy tales answers to a 
legitimate need in children, I believe holds good 
for children of six or seven, or even five, who have 



INTRODUCTION 39 

had opportunities for rational experiences. We 
all know how children revel in a secret. They 
like to live in a world of surprises. To give the 
children this sense of mystery I do not believe it is 
at all necessary to turn to vicious tales of giants, 
of ogres, and Bluebeards, or to the no less vicious 
pictures of the beautiful princess and the wicked 
stepmother. Even after rejecting the brutal and 
sentimental we have a good deal left, — a good deal 
that is intrinsically amusing as in "The Musicians 
of Bremen" or "Prudent Hans" or charming as in 
"Briar Rose." Symbolic or primitive attempts to 
explain the physical world, — as in the Indian 
legend of "Tavwots" I have never found held great 
appeal for the modern six- or seven-year-old scien- 
tists. Also the burden of symbolic morality rests 
on a good many of the traditional tales which 
usually neither adds nor detracts for the child and 
satisfies an adult yearning. Allegories like iEsop's 
"Fables" and "The Lion of Androcles" have a cer- 
tain right to a hearing because of their historic 
prestige, apart from any reform they may accom- 
plish in the way of character building. And in 
our own day many animals have achieved what I 
believe is a permanent place in child literature. 
"The Elephant's Child," the wild creatures of the 
"Jungle Book," "Raggylug" and even the little 



40 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

mole in the "Wind in the Willows," — these are 
animals to trust any child with. Yet even in these 
exquisitely drawn tales, I doubt if children enjoy 
what we adults wish them to enjoy either in con- 
tent or in form. And I doubt if we should accept 
even some of Kipling's matchless tales if the fault- 
less form did not intrigue us and make us oblivious 
of the content. 

It is just here that most of us fail to be discrimi- 
nating. Most of the classical literature, most of 
the legends, or the folk tales that I have been dis- 
cussing have a compelling charm through their 
form. But unfortunately that does not make their 
content suitable! Their place in the world's think- 
ing and feeling and their transcription into their 
present forms by really great artists give them a 
permanent place in the world's literature. This I 
do not question. It is partly because I believe this 
so intensely that I wish them kept for fuller appre- 
ciation. It is as formative factors in a young 
child's thinking that I am afraid of them. Neither 
am I afraid of all of them. There are some old 
conceptions of life and death and human relations 
which the race has not outgrown, perhaps never 
will outgrow. The mystery and pathos of the Pied 
Piper, the humor of Prudent Hans, the cleverness 
of the boy David, the heroism of the little Dutch 



INTRODUCTION 41 

boy stopping the hole in the dyke, the love of the 
Queer Little Baker, and the greed and grief of 
Midas are eternal. In spite of these and many 
more,; v I maintain that for the most part, myths, 
sagas, folk-lore depend for their significance and 
beauty alike upon a grasp of present social values 
which a young child cannot have and that our first 
attention should be to give him those values in 
terms intelligible to him. After we have done that 
he is safe. It matters little what we give him so 
long as it is good: for he will have standards by 
which to judge our offerings for himself. 

Yet after all is said and done, we may be reduced 
to giving children some of the stories we think 
inappropriate, for lack of something better. But 
a recognition of the need may evoke a great writer 
for children. I maintain we have never had one of 
the first order. The best books that we have for 
children are throw-offs from artists primarily con- 
cerned with adults, — Kipling and Stevenson stand 
in this group, — or child versions of adult litera- 
ture, — from Charles and Mary Lamb down. The 
world has yet to see a genuinely great creator 
whose real vision is for children. When children 
have their Psalmist, their Shakespeare, their Keats, 
they will not be offered diluted adult literature. 

So after we have gathered what we can from 



42 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

the world's store for children of this seven-to-eight- 
year old period I think we shall find many unfilled 
gaps. Most attempts at humor, for instance, are 
on the level of the comic sheet of the Sunday sup- 
plement or the circus. There is little except a few 
of the "drolls" which give the child pure fun 
unmixed with excitement or confusion. Even 
"Alice in Wonderland" when first read to a six- 
year-old who was used to rational thinking and 
talking was pronounced "Too funny!" This same 
boy, however, went back to Alice again and again. 
He always relished such bits as : 

"Speak roughly to your little boy, 
And beat him when he sneezes, 
He only does it to annoy 

Because he knows it teases." 

No child's world is complete without humor. And 
children have a sense of the preposterous, the inap- 
propriate all their own. Lewis Carroll and a few 
others have occasionally found it. Still, I think 
much remains to be done in the way of studying 
the things that children themselves find amusing. 
This is true for the younger ones as well. I give 
several younger children's stories which appeared 
both to the tellers and their audiences to be con- 
vulsing. The humor is strangely physical and 
amazingly simple. And it is all fresh. 



INTRODUCTION 43 

Stories by Four-Year-Olds 

I dreamed I was asleep in a tomato and just scram- 
bled around until I'd eaten it up. 



Once there was a cow and he was in a wagon and 
he jumped over the wagon's edge. 



Sesame the Cat 



She lived with a nice man, a candy man, and she 
was at the gate watching the cattle go by and the men 
were digging under some caramel bricks and he called 
Sesame the Cat and she came banging and almost 
jumped on the man's head. She jumped like a merry 
balloon. Oh, he got angry! 



Story by Five-Year-Old 

Once there was a fly. And he went out walking 
on a little boy's face. He came to a kind of a soft 
hump. "What is this ?" thought the fly. a Oh, I guess 
it's the little boy's eye !" Then he came to a lot of 
kind of wiggly things that went down with him. 
"What is this?" thought the fly. "Oh, I guess it's 
the little boy's hair!" Then he slipped and fell into 
a deep hole. It was the little boy's ear. And he 
couldn't get out. He tried and he tried. But he staid 
there until the little boy's ear got all sore ! 



Stories by Six-Year-Olds 

Once upon a time there was a fox and a skunk, and 
the fox was walking down the path with a lot of 



44 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

prickly bushes on the side of the path. Then he saw 
a skunk coming along. He said, "Will you let me 
throw my little bag of perfume on you?" And then 
she (it was a lady fox) she backed and backed and 
backed and backed and backed and backed, and she 
backed so far she backed into the bushes, and she got 
her skirt torn on the prickly bushes. 



Once upon a time there was a boy and the boy was 
awfully funny. And one day the boy went to the 
store to buy some eggs and he got the eggs and ran 
so fast with the eggs home, — he stumbled and broke 
the eggs. So he took the eggs, and took the shell 
and fixed it like the same egg. And he walked off 
slowly to his home. And his mother was going to 
beat the eggs and she just opened the shell and no 
egg was there, and she couldn't make no cake that 
night. 

There is still another kind of story which I 
believe children of this transition period and a 
little older seek and for the most part seek in vain. 
These children are beginning to generalize, to 
marshal their facts and experiences along lines 
which in their later developments we call "laws." 
They like these wide-spreading conceptions which 
order the world for them. But they cannot always 
take them as bald scientific statements. Moreover 
there are certain general truths which tie together 
isolated familiar facts which can be most simply 



INTRODUCTION 45 

pictured through some device such as personifica- 
tion, — for at this age personification is recognized 
and enjoyed as a device and not, as in earlier years, 
as a necessary expression of thought. This uniting 
bond, this underlying relation may be a physical 
law like the dependence of life on life; it may be 
a social law like the division of labor in modern 
industry. Any dramatic statement of these laws 
is a simplification as is a diagram or map. And 
like a diagram or map, it is in a way artificial since 
it gives weight to one element at the expense of the 
others. But again like the diagram or map, the 
thing it shows is a fact, a fact which is more readily 
grasped by this artificial device than by bald state- 
ment. Maps do not take the place of photographs, 
nevertheless they have their own peculiar place in 
making intelligible the make-up of the physical 
world. In the same way, personification does not 
take the place of science. Nevertheless it has its 
own peculiar place in making clear to the child 
some simplifying principle, — physical or social, — 
which unifies his multitudinous experiences. So 
long as personification elucidates a true, a scientific 
principle, so long as it is not pressed to tortuous 
lengths which actually give false impressions, so 
long as it is kept within the bounds of aesthetic 
decency, so long as it is recognized as a play device 



46 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

and does not confuse a child's thinking, — so long 
it is justified. No more. It is a useful intellectual 
tool and a charming device for play. Kipling is 
preeminently the master here. It is a dangerous 
tool in lesser hands. Yet I have dared to use it 
and without scruple in "Speed," in "Once the Barn 
was Full of Hay" and in "Silly Will." Here again 
I feel sure that study of children's questions and 
stories would bring rich suggestions as to how to 
fill this large gap in their present literature. 

Gaps there are, and many and large ones. Still, 
taken all in all, the field for the seven- to eight- 
year-old transition period is not as completely 
barren as the field for the earlier years. For these 
children are evolving from the stage where they 
need "Here and Now" stories. They are begin- 
ning to take on adult modes of thought and to ap- 
preciate and understand the peculiar language 
which adults use no matter how young a child 
they address! So much for the content of chil- 
dren's stories. And at best the content is but half. 

FORM 

If content is but half, form Is the other half of 
stories and not the easier half, either. Every story, 
to be worthy of the name, must have a pattern, a 



INTRODUCTION 47 

pattern which is both pleasing and comprehensi- 
ble. This design, this composition, this pattern, 
whether it be of a story as a whole or of a sentence 
or a phrase, is as essential to a piece of writing 
as is the design or composition to a picture. It 
satisfies the emotional need of the child which is 
as essential in real education as is the intellectual. 
Without this design, language remains on the 
utilitarian level, — where, to be sure, we usually 
find it in modern days. 

Now what kind of pattern is adapted to a small 
child, — say a three-year-old? What kind does he 
like? More, what kind can he perceive? Here in 
the expression as fatally as in the content has the 
adult shaped the mould to his own liking. Or 
rather, the case is even worse. The adult more 
often than not has presented his stories and verse 
to children in forms which the children could not 
like because they literally could not hear them! 
The pattern, as such, did not exist for them. But 
what have we to guide us in creating suitable pat- 
terns for these little children who can help us 
neither by analysis nor by articulate remonstrance? 
We have two sources of help and both of them 
come straight from the children. The first are the 
children's own spontaneous art forms; the second 
are the story and verse patterns which make an 



48 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

almost universal appeal to little children. Even 
a superficial study of these two sources, — and 
where shall we find a thorough study? — suggests 
two fundamental principles. They sound obvious 
and perhaps they are. But how often is the obvious 
ignored in the treatment of children! The first 
is that the individual units whether ideas, sen- 
tences or phrases must be simple. The second is 
that these simple units must be put close together. 
As the quickest and most eloquent exemplifica- 
tion of both these principles I give four stories. 
The first was told by a little girl of twenty-two 
months, a singularly articulate little person, — as 
she looked at the blank wall where had hung a 
picture of a baby (she supposed her little brother), 
a cow and a donkey. The second was a story told 
by a little girl of two and a half after a summer 
on the seashore. The third was achieved by a boy 
of three, — a child, in general, unsensitive to music. 
The fourth was told in school by a four-year-old 
girl. 

Story by Twenty-Two-Months-Old Child 

Where cow? 
Where donk? 
Where little Aa? 



INTRODUCTION 49 

Cow gone away! 
Donk gone away! 
Little Aa gone away ! 

Like cow ! 
Like donk! 
Like little Aa ! 

Come back cow ! 
Come back donk! 
Come back little Aa! 



Story by Two-and-a-Half-Y ear-Old 

I fell in water. 

Man fell in water. 

John fell in water. 

For' fell in water. 

Aunt Carrie fell in water. 

I pull boat out. 
Man pull boat out. 
John pull boat out. 
For' pull boat out. 
Aunt Carrie pull boat out. 

I go in that boat. 
Man go in that boat. 
John go in that boat. 
For' go in that boat. 
Aunt Carrie go in that boat. 



50 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Story by Three-Year-Old 

And father went down, down, down into the hole. 
And the bull-frog, he went up, up, up into the sky 1 
And then the bull-frog, he went down, down, down into 

the hole 
And then father, he went up, up, up, way into the sky ! 
And then the bull-frog he went down, down, down into 

the hole 
And up, up into the sky! 
And then he went down into the hole 
And up into the sky ! 

And he went down and up and down and up 
And down and up and down and up 
And down and up and down and up 
And down and up 
And down and up 
And down and up 
Down and up (to wordless song.) 

Story by a Four-Year-Old 

Baby Bye, Baby Bye 

Here's a fly 

You'd better be careful 

Else he will sting you 

And here's a spider too. 

And if you hurt him he will sting you 

And don't you hurt him 

And his pattern on the wall. 

Certainly all have form, — spontaneous native art 
form. Indeed they strongly suggest that to the 



INTRODUCTION 51 

child, the pleasure lay in the form rather than in 
the content. The patterns of the first two are some- 
what alike, — variations of a simple statement. In 
content the younger child keeps her attention on 
one point, so to speak, while the older child allows 
a slight movement like an embryonic narrative. 
The pattern of the three-year-old's is considerably 
more complex. The phrases shorten, the tempo 
quickens, until the whole swings off into wordless 
melody. The fourth probably started from some 
remembered lullaby but quickly became the child's 
own. I give two more examples of stories. In the 
first, does not this five-year-old girl give us her 
vivid impressions in marvelously simple sense and 
motor terms? And does not the six-year-old boy 
in the second show that imagination can spring 
from real experiences? 

Stories by Five-Year-Olds 

I am going to tell you a story about when I went 
to Falmouth with my mother. We had to go all night 
on the train and this is the way it sounded, (moving 
her hand on the table and intoning in different keys) 
thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, 
NEWARK! thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, 
thum, thum, thum, thum, FALMOUTH ! And then 
we got off and we took a trolley car and the trolley 
car went clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip. And 



52 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

another trolley car came in the other direction (again 
with hands) and one came along saying clipperty, 
clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip and the other came along 
saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip, zip, 
BANG! And they hit in the middle and they got 
stuck and they tried to pull them apart and they stuck 
and they stuck and they stuck and finally they got 
them apart and then we went again. And when we 
got off we had to take a subway and the subway went 
rockety-rockety-rockety-rock. You know a subway 
makes a terrible noise ! It made a terrible noise it 
sounded like rockety-rockety-rockety-rockety-rock. 

And at last we got there and when we came up in 
the streets of Falmouth it was so still that I didn't 
know what to do. You know the streets of Falmouth 
are just so terribly quiet and then we had to walk 
millions and millions of miles almost to get to our 
little cottage. And when we got there I put on my 
bathing suit and I went in bathing and I shivered just 
like this because it was a rainy day, the day I went to 
Falmouth with my mother. 

The Talk of the Brook 

O brook, O brook, that sings so loud, 

O brook, O brook, that goes all day, 

O brook, O brook, that goes all night 

And forever. 

Splashes and waves, girls and boys are playing with 

You and in you. 

Some with shoes off and some with shoes on, 

And some are crying because they fell in you. 

O brook, O brook, have you an end ever? 

Or do you go forever? 



INTRODUCTION 53 

Technically in all these stories the child exempli- 
fies the two rules. He attends to but one thing at 
a time. And his steps from one point to the next 
are short and clear. 

When we look at the forms which have been 
presented to children with these their spontaneous 
patterns fresh in mind, we can see, I think, why 
Mother Goose has been taken as a child's own and 
Eugene Field and even Stevenson rejected as unin- 
telligible. I do not believe there is anything in the 
content of Mother Goose to win the child. I 
believe it is the form that makes the appeal. 
Vachel Lindsay, whose daring play with words 
has made him an object of suspicion to the reluc- 
tant of mind, has given us one poem in pattern 
singularly like the children's own and in content 
full of interest and charm. Again I give examples 
as the quickest of arguments. And I give them in 
verse where the form is more obvious and can be 
shown in briefer space than in stories. 

Jack and Jill 

Went up the hill 
To fetch a pail of water. 

Jack fell down 

And broke his crown 
And Jill came tumbling after. 



54 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Time to Rise 

A birdie with a yellow bill 
Hopped upon the window sill, 
Cocked his shining eye and said: 
"Ain't you shamed, you sleepy head?" 

— Stevenson. 

The Little Turtle 

(A recitation for Martha Wakefield, three years old) 

There was a little turtle. 
He lived in a box. 
He swam in a puddle. 
He climbed on the rocks. 

He snapped at a musquito. 
He snapped at a flea. 
He snapped at a minnow. 
And he snapped at me. 

He caught the musquito. 
He caught the flea. 
He caught the minnow. 
But he didn't catch me. 

— Vdchel Lindsay . ; 

From The Dinkey-Bird 

So when the children shout and scamper 

And make merry all the day, 
When there's naught to put a damper 

To the ardor of their play; 



INTRODUCTION 55 

When I hear their laughter ringing, 

Then I'm sure as sure can be 
That the Dinkey-bird is singing 

In the amfalula tree. 

— Eugene Field. 

Of the two "Jack and Jill" and "Birdie with the 
Yellow Bill," surely Stevenson's is the more 
charming to the adult ear. But when I have read 
it to three-year-olds, I have felt that they were 
lost. They could not sustain the long grammatical 
suspense, could not carry over "A birdie" from the 
first line to the conclusion and so actually did not 
know who was saying "Ain't you shamed, you 
sleepy-head!" Mother Goose repeats her subject. 
The span to carry is two phrases in Mother Goose 
as against four in Stevenson. The Vachel Lindsay 
I have found is as easily remembered and as much 
enjoyed as Mother Goose, though it is a pity it is 
about an unfamiliar animal. As for the Dinkey- 
bird even a seven-year-old can hardly hear the 
rhyme even if intellectually he could follow the 
adult vocabulary and the complicated sentence 
with its long postponed subject. 

It is the same with stories. The classic tales 
which have held small children, — "The Ginger- 
bread Man," "The Three Little Pigs," "Goldy- 
locks," — have patterns so obvious and so simple 



56 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

that they cannot be missed. In "The Gingerbread 
Man" the pattern is one of increasing additions. 
It belongs to the aptly called "cumulative" tales. 
The refrains act like sign-posts to help the child 
to mark the progress. This is simply a skilful way 
of making the continuity close, of showing the lad- 
der rungs for the child's feet. I venture to say 
that any good story-teller consciously or uncon- 
sciously puts up sign-posts to help the children. 
If he is skilful, he makes a pattern of them so that 
they are not merely intellectually helpful but 
charming as well. So Kipling in his "Just So 
Stories" uses his sign-posts, — which are sometimes 
words, sometimes phrases, sometimes situations, — 
in such a way that they ring musically and give a 
pleasant sense of pattern even to children too young 
to find them intellectually helpful. 

In other words, the little child is not equipped 
psychologically to hear complicated units. I wish 
some one could determine how the average four- 
year-old hears the harmony of a chord on the 
piano. Is it much except confusion? In the same 
way, he is not equipped to leap a span between 
units. I wish some one would determine the four- 
year-old's memory span for rhymes, for instance. 
The involutions, the suggestiveness so attractive to 
adult ears, he cannot hear. Even an adult ear, 



INTRODUCTION 57 

untutored, can scarcely hear the intermingling 
rhythms and overlapping rhymes which blend like 
overtones of a chord in such verse as Patmore's 
Ode "The Toys." I feel sure the small child can- 
not hear complexities; he cannot leap gaps. And 
so he cannot understand when even simple ideas 
are given in complex and discontinuous form. 
This explains his notorious love of repetition. 
Repetition is the simplest of patterns, simple 
enough to be enjoyed as pattern. I have found 
that almost any simple phrase of music or words 
repeated slowly and with a kind of ceremonious 
attention, enthralls a year-old child. If the unit 
is simple enough to be remembered he will inevi- 
tably enjoy recognizing it as it recurs and recurs. 
This is the embryonic pattern sense. 

This pattern enjoyment too is motor in its basis. 
His early repetitions of sounds are probably 
largely pleasure in muscle patterns. We all know 
that a child uses first his large muscles, — arm, leg 
and back, — and that he early enjoys any regular 
recurrent use of these muscles. So at the time 
when the vocal muscles tend to become his means 
of expression, he enjoys repeating the same sounds 
over and over. And soon he gets enjoyment from 
listening to repetitions or rhythmic language, — a 
vicarious motor enjoyment. Surely it is important 



58 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

that stories should furnish him this exercise and 
pleasure. Three- and four-year-olds will enjoy a 
positively astounding amount of repetition. In the 
Arabella and Araminta stories a large proportion 
of the sentences are given in duplicate by the sim- 
ple device of having twins who do and say the same 
things and by telling the remarks and actions of 
each. The selection quoted is repeated entire four 
times, the variation being only in the flower 
picked : 

And Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked 
a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta 
picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy, and 
Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a 
poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella 
picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, until 
they each had a great big bunch (I should say a very 
large bunch), and then they ran back to the house. 

Arabella got a glass and put her poppies in it, and 
Araminta got a glass and put her poppies in it. 

And Arabella clapped her hands and danced around 
the table. And Araminta clapped her hands and 
danced around the table. 

Adult ears repudiate anything as obvious as this; 
they still, however, enjoy a ballad refrain. 

Just as small children cannot hear complica- 
tions, so they cannot grasp details if the movement 
is swift. We must give time for a child's slow 



INTRODUCTION 59 

reactions. We usually fail to do this in ordinary 
social situations and are often surprised to hear 
our three-year-old say "good-bye" long after the 
front door is closed and our guest well on his way 
down the street. In stories we must take a leisurely 
pace. We must also read very slowly allowing 
ample time for a child to give the full motor 
expression to his thought for the art of abbrevia- 
tion he has not yet learned. 

It is not enough to recognize that since a child 
attends to but one thing at a time the units must be 
simple. Here in the form as in the content, must 
the motor quality of a child's thinking be held 
constantly in mind. In trying to find the general 
subject matter appropriate for little children I 
said that they think through their muscles. This 
motor expression of small children has its direct 
application in the concrete method of telling of 
any happening. The story child who is experi- 
encing, should go through the essential muscular 
performances which the real listening child would 
go through if he were actually experiencing him- 
self. For he thinks through these muscular expres- 
sions. As an example, when a group of four-year- 
olds heard a story about a little boy who saw the 
elevated train approach and pass above him, they 
thought the child might have been run over. The 



60 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

words "up" and "above" and "overhead" had been 
used but the children failed to get the idea of 
"upness." Unquestionably they would have under- 
stood if I had made the little boy throw back his 
head and look up. Small children act with big 
gestures and with big muscles. And they think 
through the same mechanisms. 

These two principles, simplicity and continuity, 
apply concretely to sentence and phrase structure 
as well. The effort to obtain continuity for the 
child explains the colloquial "The little boy who 

lived in this house, he did so and so " You 

help your child back to the subject, "the little 
boy" by the grammatically redundant "he" after 
his mind has gone off on "this house." This same 
need for continuity also explains why a child's 
own stories are characteristically one continuous 
sentence strung together with "ands" and "thens" 
and "buts." He sees and hears and consequently 
thinks in a simple, rhythmic, continuous flow. If 
we would have him see and hear and think with us, 
we must give him his stories and verse in simple 
units closely and obviously linked together. 

But after all is said and done, why should we 
give children stories at all? Is it to instruct and 
so should we pay attention to the content? Is it 
to delight and so should we pay attention to the 



INTRODUCTION 61 

form? Both things, information and relish, have 
their place in justifying stories for children. But 
both to my mind are of minor importance com- 
pared to a third and quite different thing, — and 
this is to get children to create stories of their own, 
to play with words. "To get" is an unhappy 
phrase for it suggests that children must be coaxed 
to the task. This I do not believe though I can- 
not prove it. I do believe that children play with 
words naturally and spontaneously just as they play 
with any material that comes to their creative 
hands. And further I believe, — though this too I 
cannot prove, — that we adults kill this play with 
words just as we kill their creative play with most 
things. Most of us have forgotten how to play 
with anything, most of all with words. We are 
utilitarian, we are executive, we are didactic, we 
are earth-tied, we are hopelessly adult! Actually 
children use their ears and noses and fingers much 
more than do we adults. Our stories rely mainly 
upon visual recalls. We forget to listen even to 
birds whose message is pure melody. And how 
many of us hear the city sounds which surround 
us, the characteristic whirr of revolving wheels, 
the vibrating rhythm of horses' feet, the crunch of 
footsteps in the snow? Noises we hear, the warn- 
ing shriek of the fire engine or the honk! honk! of 



62 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

the automobile. But the subtler, finer reverbera- 
tions we are not sensitive to. Yet little children 
love to listen and develop another method of sens- 
ing and appreciating their world by this pleasur- 
able use of their hearing. It surely is an unused 
opportunity for story-tellers. I have tried to use 
it in "Pedro's Feet" which is an attempt to give 
them an ordinary story by means of sounds. And 
even less than to city sounds do we listen for the 
cadences in language. We listen only for the 
meaning and forget the sensuous delight of sound. 

But happily children are not so determined to 
wring a meaning out of every sight and every 
sound. Children play. Play is a child's own tech- 
nique. Through it he seizes the strange unknown 
world around him and fashions it into his very 
own. He recreates through play. And through 
creating, he learns and he enjoys. 

There is no better play material in the world 
than words. They surround us, go with us through 
our work-a-day tasks, their sound is always in our 
ears, their rhythms on our tongue. Why do we 
leave it to special occasions and to special people 
to use these common things as precious play mate- 
rial? Because we are grown-ups and have closed 
our ears and our eyes that we may not be distracted 
from our plodding ways ! But when we turn to the 



INTRODUCTION 63 

children, to hearing and seeing children, to whom 
all the world is as play material, who think, and 
feel through play, can we not then drop our adult 
utilitarian speech and listen and watch for the pat- 
terns of words and ideas? Can we not care for 
the way we say things to them and not merely what 
we say? Can we not speak in rhythm, in pleasing 
sounds, even in song for the mere sensuous delight 
it gives us and them, even though it adds nothing 
to the content of our remark? If we can, I feel 
sure children will not lose their native use of 
words: more, I think those of six and seven and 
eight who have lost it in part, — and their stories 
show they have, — will win back to their spontan- 
eous joy in the play of words. This is the ultimate 
test of stories and verse, — whether they help chil- 
dren to retain their native gift of play with lan- 
guage and with thought. 

In the City and Country School where my ex- 
periments in language have been carried on, we 
have not gone far enough to offer convincing proof 
along these lines. But I submit two stories told 
by a six-year-old class which are at least sugges- 
tive. The first is the best story told to me by any 
member of the class before any effort had been 
made to get the children to listen to the sound of 
their words or to think of their ideas as all point- 



64 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

ing in one direction and giving a single impres- 
sion. The second was told by the class as a whole 
while looking at Willebeek Le Mair's illustration 
of "Twinkle, twinkle, little star." They said the 
picture made them feel sleepy and that they would 
say only things that made them sleepy and use 
only words that made them sleepy. Between the 
two stories I had met with them seven times. I 
had read them sounding and rhythmic verse. They 
had become interested in the sound of language 
apart from its meaning. They had become inter- 
ested in the sound of the rain and the fire. They 
were thinking through their ears. Am I mistaken 
in believing this shows in their language and in 
their thought? 

Story by a Six-Year-Old 

Once upon a time there was a little boy named 
Peter and a little boy named Boris. And Peter took 
him out for a walk and took him all around school. 
Then I took him out to my house and saw all my play 
things. And then I took him to Central Park and 
showed him sea lions and the giraffe and the elephant 
and I showed how they eat by their trunks. And he 
thought it was queer. And he said he was afraid of 
animals and so I took him home. I told him to tell 
his mother about it and his mother said, "You want 
to go for another walk?" and he said, "Yes, but not 
where the wild animals are." I said, "Do you want 



INTRODUCTION 65 

to go to Central Park?" and he said, "Yes." You 
see he got fooled! He didn't know about the wild 
animals. 

Joint Story by Six-Year-Old Class 

I like it when the boy and the girl look at the sky. 
They look at the trees and they are sleepy. It is dark 
outside. It is night and the sky is dark blue. And it 
is kind of whitish and the trees are next to the blue 
sky. The bright evening star is out. The star is so 
far up in the sky that you can hardly see it. The 
children are looking at the sky before they go to bed 
and they are praying to God. They have their 
nightgowns on. The bed is all nice so they couldn't 
have just got up. The clothes are hanging on the bed. 
They sleep in their own bed together. When they go 
to bed they have their door closed. 

"The Leaf Story" and "The Wind Story" I have 
incorporated with my stories, though they are al- 
most entirely the work of children. In both cases 
the organization is beyond the children. But the 
content and the phraseology bear their unmistak- 
able imprint. The same is true of "The Sea Gull." 

Because of the pattern, the play aspect of lan- 
guage, I believe in written stories even for very 
little ones. If we loved our language better and 
played with its sound in our ordinary speech, per- 
haps stories for two- and three-year-olds would not 
be needed. But as it is, we need to present them 



66 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

with something more intentional, more thought out 
than is possible with most of us in a story told. 
If the patterns of our ideas or of our speech are 
to have charm, if they are to fit the occasion with 
nicety, if they are to flow easily and are to be con- 
tinuous enough to be comprehended by little chil- 
dren, they will need careful attention, — attention 
that cannot be given under the emergency of tell- 
ing a story, not, at least, by the uninspired of us. 
Inevitably, with our utilitarian tendencies, we 
shall be drawn off to an undue regard of the con- 
tent to the neglect of the expression. And yet, 
for very little children, there is unquestionably 
something lost by the formality and fixity of a 
written story. A story told has more spontaneity, 
allows more leeway to include the chance happen- 
ings or remarks of the children; it can be more 
intimately personal, more adapted to the particu- 
lar occasion and to the particular child. Perhaps 
some time we shall achieve a fortunate com- 
promise, a stepping stone between the story told 
and the story read. Perhaps we shall work out 
happy or characteristic phrases about familiar 
things, — little personal things about the clothes and 
habits of each child, general familiar things like 
autos and wagons and horses on the street, coal 
going down the hole in the sidewalk, the squab- 



INTRODUCTION 6 1 * 

bling of sparrows in the dirt, the drift of snow on 
the roofs, — perhaps we shall learn to use such 
thought-out phrases or refrains like blocks for 
building many stories. If we could work out some 
such technique as this, we could keep the intimacy, 
the flexibility, the waywardness of the spoken 
story and still give the children the charm of care- 
ful thinking and careful phrasing. Many such 
phrases have been fashioned by people sensitive 
to the quality of sound. Every nursery has had 
its rooster crow : 

u Cock-a-doodle-doo !" 

But few have given its children that delightful 
epitome of the songs of spring birds which has 
piped with irrepressible freshness now for nearly 
four centuries : 

"Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo I" 

I have never known the child who did not respond 
to Kipling's engine song: 

"With a michnai-ghignai-shtingal ! Yah ! Yah ! Yah !" 

Every child creates these wonderful sound inter- 
pretations of the world. We smile a smile of in- 
dulgence when we hear them. And then we forget 



68 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

them! Cannot we seize some of them however 
imperfectly and learn to build them into the struc- 
ture of our stories? It was more or less this kind 
of thing that I had in mind in writing Marni's 
stories and "The Room with the Window Look- 
ing Out Upon the Garden" which as I have said 
elsewhere are types to be told rather than nar- 
ratives to be read. And I feel sure if we could 
once make a beginning that the children them- 
selves would soon take the matter into their own 
hands and create their own building blocks. 

For children are primarily creators. They do 
not willingly nor for long maintain the passive 
role. This should be reckoned with in stories and 
not merely as a concession to restless children but 
as a real aid to the story. An active role should be 
provided for the children somewhere within every 
story until the children are old enough to have 
a genuinely impersonal interest in things and 
events and until they do not need a motor expres- 
sion of their thoughts. For as I have already said, 
up to that age, — and it is for psychologists to say 
when that age is, — children think in terms of them- 
selves expressed through their own activities. This 
active role should be used not merely as a safety 
valve of expression to keep the child a patient 
listener, but as a tool by which he may become 



INTRODUCTION 69 

aware of the form of thought and language. It 
is interesting that the children to whom these 
stories have been read, have seized upon the rhyme 
refrains as their own and after a few readings have 
joined in saying them as though this were their 
natural portion. It is with this hope that I have 
tried to make the refrains not mere interludes in 
the story, as they usually are, but the real skeleton, 
the intrinsic thought pattern, the fundamental de- 
sign. In "How the Singing Water Gets to the 
Tub" and "How Spot Found a Home," for in- 
stance, the refrains taken by themselves out of the 
context, tell the whole story. It is too soon to say, 
but I am strong in the hope that through relish for 
this kind of active participation in written stories, 
a small child may become captivated by the play 
side of the stories as opposed to the content and so 
turn to language as play material in which to 
fashion patterns of his own. 

For the sake of analysis, I have treated content 
and form separately. But I am keenly aware that 
the divorce of the two is what has made our stories 
for children so unsatisfactory. We have good 
ideas told without charm of design; and we have 
meaningless patterns which tickle the ear for the 
moment but fade because they spring from no real 
thought. Literature is only achieved when the 



70 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

thought pattern and the language pattern exactly 
fit. A refrain for the mere sake of recurrent 
jingle, that has no genuine no essential recurrence 
in the thought, is a trick. If the pattern does not 
help the thought and the thought suggest the pat- 
tern, there is something wrong. It is an artifice, 
not art. This matching of content and form is 
nothing new. It is and always has been the basis 
of good literature. The task that is new is to find 
thought sequences, thought relations which are 
truly childlike and the language design which is 
really appropriate to them, — to make both content 
and form the child's. 

As I said at the beginning, so must I say at the 
end. These stories are experiments, experiments 
both in content and form. To have any value they 
must be treated as such. The theses underlying 
them have been stated for brevity's sake only in 
didactic form. In reality, they lie in my mind 
as open questions urgently in need of answers. But 
I do not hope much from the answers of adults, — 
from the deaf and blind writers to the hearing and 
seeing children. The answers must come from 
the children themselves. We must listen to chil- 
dren's speech, to their casual everyday expressions. 
We must gather children's stories. Mothers and 
teachers everywhere should be making these 



INTRODUCTION 71 

precious records. We must study them not merely 
as showing what a child is thinking, but the way 
he is thinking and the way he is enjoying. It is 
the hope that these stories may be tried out with 
children, the hope of reaching others who may be 
watching and listening and working along these 
lines, the hope that we may gather records of chil- 
dren's stories which will become a basis for a real 
literature, the hope that somewhere among grown- 
ups we may find an ear still sensitive to hear and 
an eye still fresh to see, — it is this hope that has 
given me the courage to expose these pitifully in- 
adequate adult efforts to speak with little children 
in their own language. Some one must dare, if 
only to give courage to the better equipped. And 
if we dare enough, I am sure the children will 
come to our rescue. If we let them, they will lead 
us. Whatever these stories hold of merit or of 
suggestiveness is due to the inspiration and toler- 
ance of the courageous group of workers in the 
City and Country School and in the Bureau of 
Educational Experiments and in particular to 
Caroline Pratt without whom these stories would 
never have been dreamed or written; and above 
all to the children themselves, for whom the stories 
were written and to whom they have been read, 
both in the laboratory school and in my own home. 



72 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

To those then, who wish to follow the lead of little 
children, to those who have the curiosity to know 
into what new paths of literature children's interest 
and children's spontaneous expression of those 
interests will lead, and to the children themselves, 
I send these stories. 

Lucy Sprague Mitchell. 
New York City- 
July, 1921. 



MARNI TAKES A RIDE 
IN A WAGON 

The refrains in this story were first made up during 
the actual ride. Later they served to recall the expe- 
rience with vividness. This story is given only as a 
type which any one may use when helping a two-year- 
old to live over an experience. 



MARNI TAKES A RIDE IN A WAGON 



One day Marni went for a ride. Little Aa, he 
climbed into Sprague's wagon and Marni, she 
climbed in behind him. Then Mother took the 
handle and she began to pull the wagon with little 
Aa and Marni in it. And Mother she went: 



Jog, 
Jog, 
Jog, 
Jog, 
And Jog, 

Jog, 
Jog, 



og, jog, jog, 

°g> jog, jog, 

og, jog, jog, 

°g> jog, jog, 

°g) jog* jog) 

°g> jog) jog) 

og, jog, jog, 
Jog! 



And the wheels, they went, (with motion of 
hands) : 

Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
And Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round ! 

And then Mother was tired. So she stopped. 
And Marni said, "Whoa, horsie!" 

75 



76 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ughl" for he wanted 
to go. 

But Marni said, "Get up, horsie!" for she 
wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the 
handle and went: 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

And Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 
Jog! 



And the wheels they went : 

Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
And Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round ! 

And then Mother was tired. So she stopped, 
and Marni said, "Whoa, horsie!" 

Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted 
to go. But Marni said "Get up, horsie!" for she 
wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the 
handle and went, 



MARNI TAKES A RIDE IN A WAGON 



77 



Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

And Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 

Jog, jog, jog, jog, 
Jog! 

And the wheels they went : 

Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
And Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round, round, round, round, 
Round ! 

And then Mother was very, very tired. So she 
stopped. And Marni said, "Whoa, horsie!" 

Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted 
to go again. But Marni said "Get up, horsie 1" 
for she wanted to go too. But Mother she was 
very, very, VERY tired. She had jogged, jogged, 
jogged so long and made the wheels go round, 
round, round, round, so much! So she said, "The 
ride is all over!" Then Little Aa climbed down 
out of the wagon and Marni climbed down out of 
the wagon. And Marni said, "Goodbye, wagon!" 
and ran away! . 



MARNI GETS DRESSED 
IN THE MORNING 

This story, obviously, is for a particular little girl. 
It is told in the terms of her own experience, of her 
own environment, and of her own observations. It 
is nothing more or less than the living over in rhythmic 
form of the daily routine of her morning dressing. 
Her story remarks are either literal quotations or 
adaptations of her actual every day responses. The 
little verse refrains are the type of thing almost anyone 
can improvise. I have found that any simple statement 
about a familiar object or act told (or sung) with a 
kind of ceremonious attention and with an obvious and 
simple rhythm, enthralls a two-year-old. The little 
girl for whom this story was written began embryonic 
stories before her second birthday. The water-soap- 
sponge episode is an adaptation of one of her first 
narrative forms. This story is meant merely as a 
suggestion of the way almost anyone can make 
language an every day plaything to the small child she 
is caring for. 



MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE 
MORNING 

Once there was a little girl and her name was 
Marni Moo. Marni used to sleep in a little bed in 
mother's room. In the morning Marni would 
wake up and she would say "Hello, Mother." 
And then in a minute she would say, "I want to 
get up." 

And mother would say: 

"Hoohoo, Marni Moo. 
I'm coming, I'm coming, 
I'm coming for you." 

Then mother would get up and she'd come over 
and she'd unfasten the blanket and she'd take little 
Marni Moo in her arms and she'd walk into 
Marni's bath-room and she'd take off Marni's 
night-gown and Marni's shirt. And then she'd 
get a little basin, and she'd put some water in it, 
and she'd get some soap and she'd get a sponge and 
she'd wash little Marni Moo. She'd wash Marni's 
face and then she'd wash Marni's hands, and Marni 
would put one hand in the basin and she'd splash 

81 



82 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



the water like this : — Then she'd put 

another hand in the basin and she'd splash the 
water like this : — Then mother would 

wipe both hands and she'd throw the water down 
the sink and she'd put away the soap and the 
sponge. And Marni would watch mother and 
then she'd say: 




"Where water? 
Where soap? 
Where sponge? 



MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING 83 

Water gone away! 
Soap gone away I 
Sponge gone away!" 

And after that what do you suppose Marni would 
say? 

"Shirt, shirt." And mother would put Marni's 
shirt over her head and say: 

"Peek-a-boo, Marni Moo, 
Marni's head is coming through." 

and then mother would button up Marni's shirt. 

And then Marni would say "Waist, waist." 

Then while mother put on Marni's waist she would 

say: 

"Here's one hand 
And here's another. 
Marni's a sister 
And Robin's a brother." 

And then Marni would say, "Drawers, drawers." 
And while mother put on Marni's drawers she 
would say: 

"Here's one foot 
And here's another. 
Marni's a sister 
And Peter's a brother." 

And then Marni would say, "Stockings, stock- 



84 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

ings." And mother would put on one stocking on 
her left foot, and then she'd put on another stock- 
ing on her right foot. And then she'd fasten the 
garters on one stocking, and then she'd fasten the 
garters on the other stocking. And all the time 
mother would keep saying : 

"Here's one leg 
And here's another. 
Marni's a sister 
And Jack-o's a brother." 

Then Marni would say, "Shoe, shoe." And 
mother would put one shoe on her left foot and 
then she'd put on the other shoe on her right foot. 
And then she'd say again: 

"Here's one foot 
And here's another. 
Marni's a sister 
And Robin's a brother." 

And then Marni would say, "Hook, hook." 
And mother would get the button-hook and then 
she'd button up the left shoe and then she'd button 
up the right shoe. And all the time she was but- 
toning up first one shoe and then the other shoe 
Marni would say: 

"Look, look, 
Hook, hook." 



MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING 85 

And when the shoes were all buttoned up, mother 
would hit first one little sole and then the other 
little sole, and say: 

"Now we're through 
Tit, tat, too. 
Here a nail, there a nail, 
Now we're through." 

Then Marni would run and get her romper and 
bring it to mother calling, "Romper, romper." 
And mother would put on her romper, singing : 

"Romper, romper 
Who's got a romper? 
Little Marni Moo 
She's got two. 
One is a yellow one 
And one is blue. 
Romper, romper 
Who's got a romper?" 

And then Marni would say, "Button, button." 
And mother would button up her romper all 
down the back. First one button and then another 
button and then another button and then another 
button, and then another button and then another 
button until they were buttoned all down the back. 

And then Marni would say, "Sweater." And 
mother would put on her little blue sweater saying : 



86 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Sweater, sweater 
Who's got a sweater? 
Little Marni Moo 
She's got two. 
One is a yellow one 
And one is blue. 
Sweater, sweater, 
Who's got a sweater?" 

And then Marni would say, "Hair." And 
mother would get the brush and comb and brush 
Marni's hair. And all the time she was brushing 
it she would say: 

"Brush it so 
And brush it slow. 
Brush it here 
And brush it there. 
Brush it so 
And brush it slow. 
And brush it here 
And brush it there 
And brush it all over your dear little head." 

And then Marni would say, "All ready." And 
mother would put her down on the floor. 
Then Marni would say: 

"Where my little pail? 
My little pail gone away. 
I want my little pail 
Come, little pail." 



MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING 87 

And mother would give her her little pail. And 
Marni would put one nut in her pail, and then 
she'd put another nut in her pail, and then she'd 
put another nut in her pail. And then she'd put 
a marble in her pail, and then she'd put another 
marble in her pail, and then she'd put another 
marble in her pail. And then she'd put her quack- 
quack in her pail, and then she'd put her fish in 
her pail, and then she'd put her frog in her pail. 
Then she would shake her pail with all of the nuts 
and the marbles and the quack-quack and the frog 
and the fish, and they would all go bingety-bang, 
crickety-crack, bingety-bang, crickety-crack. 

And Marni would say, "Bingety-bang, crickety- 
crack. Where Jack-o?" And Marni would run 
to find Jack-o, and she would say, "Jack-o, hear 
bingety-bang, crickety-crack." And she would 
rattle her little pail with all the nuts and the 
marbles and the quack-quack and the fish and 
the frog. Then she'd say, "Where Peter?" And 
Marni would run to find Peter, and she would say, 
"Peter, hear bingety-bang, crickety-crack." And 
she would rattle her little pail with all the nuts and 
the marbles and the quack-quack and the fish and 
the frog. 

Then mother would call, "Breakfast, breakfast. 
Anyone ready for breakfast?" 



88 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

And Jack-o would call back, "I am, I am, I am 
ready for breakfast." 

And Peter would run as fast as he could call- 
ing, "I am, I am, I am ready for breakfast." 

And last of all would come little Marni Moo 
calling, "Breakfast, breakfast." 

Then the two boys would chase Marni to the 
breakfast table saying: 

"Marni Mitchell, 
Marni Moo, 
Run like a mousie 
Or I'll catch you." 

And Marni would scimper scamper like a 
mousie until she reached the breakfast table. 
Then they would all have breakfast together. 



THE ROOM WITH THE 

WINDOW LOOKING OUT 

ON THE GARDEN 

In this story written for a three-year-old group, I 
have tried to present the familiar setting of the class- 
room from a new point of view and to give the pre- 
sentation a very obvious pattern. I want the children 
to take an active part in the story. But before they 
try to do this I want them to have some conception of 
the whole pattern of the story so that their contribu- 
tions may be in proper design, both in substance and in 
length. That is the reason I give two samples before 
throwing the story open to the children. If each 
child has a part which falls into a recognized scheme, 
through performing that part he gets a certain practice 
in pattern making in language, — however primitive — 
and also a certain practice in the technique of co- 
operation which means listening to the others as well 
as performing himself. I have not tried to add any- 
thing to their stock of information, — merely to give 
them the pleasure of drawing on a common fund 
together. 



THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOK- 
ING OUT ON THE GARDEN 

Once there was a little girl. She was just three 
years old. One morning she and her mother put 
on their hats and coats right after breakfast. They 
walked and walked and walked from their house 
until they came to MacDougal Alley. And then 
they walked straight down the alley into the Play 
School. Now the little girl had never been to the 
Play School before and she didn't know where 
anything was and she didn't know any of the chil- 
dren and she didn't even know her teacher! So 
she asked her mother, "Which room is going to 
be mine?" And her mother answered, "The one 
with the window looking out on the garden." 

And sure enough, when the little girl looked 
around there was the sun shining right in through 
a window which looked out on a lovely garden! 
She knelt right down on the window sill to look 
out. 

Then she heard some one say, "Little New Girl, 
why don't you take off your things?" She turned 
around and there was Virginia talking to her. 

91 



92 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



"Because I don't know where to put them," said 
Little New Girl. "How funny!" laughed Virginia, 
"because see, here are all the hooks right in plain 




sight," and she pointed under the stairs. So the 
little girl took off her hat and her mittens. Her 
mother had to unbutton the hard top button but 
she did all the rest. Then she hung up everything 
on a hook. 



WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN 93 

"Goodbye," said her mother. "Goodbye," said 
Little New Girl. "Don't forget to come for me 
because I don't know where anything is and I 
don't know the children and I don't even know 
my teacher." And her mother answered, "No, I 
won't." And then she was gone. 

"Now, Little New Girl, what do you want to 
do?" said her teacher. But the little girl only 
shook her head and said, "I don't know anything 
to do." One little boy said, "Let me show Little 
New Girl something." And what did he show 
her? He took her over to the shelves and he 
showed her the blocks. "You can build a house 
or anything with them," said the little boy. 

Then another little girl said, "Let me show Lit- 
tle New Girl something." And what did this 
other little girl show her? She showed her the 
dolls. "You can put them into a house," said this 
other little girl. 

"Who else can show Little New Girl something 
to do?" called her teacher. "Will you, Robert?" 
So what did Robert show her? (Give child ample 
time to think. If he does not respond go on.) 
Robert took her over to the shelves and showed 
her the paper and crayons. "You can draw ever 
so many pictures," said Robert. 

Then Virginia said, "Let me show Little New 



94 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Girl something." So what did Virginia show her? 
— Virginia showed her the horses and wagons. 
"You can harness them up," said Virginia. 

Then Craig said, "Let me show Little New Girl 
something." So what did Craig show her? — 
Craig showed her the beads. "You can string them 
in strings," said Craig. 

Then Peter said, "Let me show Little New Girl 
something." So what did Peter show her? — Peter 
showed her the clay. "You can make anything 
you want out of it," said Peter. 

Then Tom said, "Let me show Little New Girl 
something." So what did Tom show her? Tom 
showed her the saw and hammer and nails. "You 
can saw or hammer nails," said Tom. 

Then Barbara said, "Let me show Little New 
Girl something." So what did Barbara show her? 
Barbara showed her the paper and scissors. "You 
can cut out anything you want," said Barbara. 

"Now Little New Girl, what do you want to 
do?" said her teacher. And this time the little 
girl jumped right up and down and said, "I'm 
glad! I want to do everything." "But which thing 
first?" asked her teacher. "Let me watch," the 
Little New Girl said. 

So Little New Girl stood quite still. She saw 
Robert go and get some paper and crayons and 



WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN 95 

sit down at his little table to draw. She saw Vir- 
ginia get some horses and harness and sit down at 
her little table to harness them. She saw Craig 
get some beads and sit down at his little table to 
string them. She saw Peter get the clay and sit 
down at his little table to model. She saw Tom 
go to the bench and begin to saw a piece of wood. 
She saw Barbara get some paper and scissors and 
paste and sit down at her little table to cut out 
and to paste. 

Then she said, "I want to draw first." So she 
took some paper and some colored crayons and she 
sat down at a little table near the window looking 
out on the garden. There she drew and she drew 
and she drew. And she didn't feel like a Little 
New Girl at all for now she knew where every- 
thing was and she knew all the children and she 
knew her teacher. 



96 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING 
OUT ON THE GARDEN 

I know a yellow room 
With great big sliding doors 
And a window on the side 
Looking out upon a garden. 
There's a balcony above 
With a bench for carpenters 
With planes and saws and hammers, 
Bang! bang! with nails and hammers. 
There are hooks beneath the stairs 
To hang up hats and coats, 
And nearby there's a sink 
With everybody's cup. 
There's a rope and there's a slide 
Zzzip! but there's a slide. 
There are shelves and shelves and shelves 
With colored silk and beads, 
With paper and with crayons, 
And a great big crock with clay. 
And the're blocks and blocks and blocks 
And blocks and blocks and blocks 
And the're horses there and wagons 
And cows and dogs and sheep, 

And men and women, boys and girls 



WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN 97 

With clothes upon them too. 

And then the're cars to make a train 

With engine and caboose.* 

And the're lots of little tables 

In this yellow, yellow room 

For boys and girls to sit at 

And play with all those things. 

And there's a great big floor 

In this yellow, yellow room 

For boys and girls to sit on 

And play with all those things. 

And there is lots of sunshine 

In this yellow, yellow room 

For boys and girls to sit in 

And play with all those things. 

* At this point the teacher might ask, "What else?" 
Not the first time, however. The children must get 
the outline as a whole before they contribute. Other- 
wise they will be entirely absorbed by the content. 



THE MANY-HORSE STABLE 

All the material for this story was supplied by a 
three-year-old. The pattern was added. An older 
child would not be content with so sketchy an account. 
But it seems to compass a three-year-old's most sig- 
nificant associations with a stable. The title is one in 
actual use by a four-year-old class. 



THE MANY-HORSE STABLE 

Once there was a stable. The stable was in a big 
city. Downstairs in the stable there were many 
g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons and one little-bit-of-a 
wagon. And on the walls there were many 




g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses and one little-bit-of-a har- 
ness. And there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets 
and one little-bit-of-a blanket. And there were 
some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g whips and one little-bit-of-a 
whip. And there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose 



IOI 



102 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

bags and one little-bit-of-a nose bag. Upstairs in 
the stalls there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses 
and one little-bit-of-a pony. 

In the morning the men would come and harness 
up the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses with the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g 
harnesses to the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons. They 
would put in the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets and the 
g-r-e-a-t b-i-g whips and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose 
bags. Then they would get up on the seats and 
gather up the reins and off down the street would 
go the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses. Clumpety-lumpety 
bump ! thump ! Clumpety-lumpety bump ! thump ! 

Then a little-bit-of-a man would harness up the 
little-bit-of-a pony with the little-bit-of-a harness 
to the little-bit-of-a wagon. He would put in the 
little-bit-of-a blanket and the little-bit-of-a whip 
and the little-bit-of-a nose bag. Then he would get 
up on the seat and gather up the reins and off down 
the street would go the little-bit-of-a pony! 
Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip! Lippety-lippety! 
lip! lip! lip! 



MY KITTY 

Here there is no plot. Instead I have at- 
tempted to enumerate the associations which cluster 
around a kitten and present them in a patterned form. 



MY KITTY 

Meow, meow! 

Kitty's eyes, two eyes, yellow eyes, shiny bright 
eyes. 
Meow, meow! 

Kitty's pointed ears, pink on the inside, fur on 
the outside. 
Meow, meow! 

Kitty's mouth, little white teeth and whiskers 
long. 
Meow, meow! 

Kitty's fur, soft to stroke like this, like this. 

Prrrr, prrrr, 

Little fur ball cuddled close to the warm, warm 
fire. 
Prrrr, prrrr, 

Little padded feet pattering soft to get her milk. 
Prrrr, prrrr, 

Little pink tongue, lapping up the milk from 
her own little dish. 
Prrrr, prrrr, 

Warm little, round little, happy little kitten 

snuggled in my arms. 
105 



106 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Pssst, pssst! 

Stiff little kitten, spitting at a dog. 
Pssst, pssst! 

Hair standing up on her humped-up back. 
Pssst, pssst! 

Sharp white teeth, sharp, sharp, claws. 
Pssst, pssst! 

Ready to jump and to bite and to scratch. 

Kitty, kitty, kitty, 

You funny little cat, 
I never know whether you'll purr or spit 

You funny little cat! 



THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS 
An objective story tied in with the personal. 



THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS 

Once there was an egg. Inside the egg there 
was a little chicken growing, for the mother hen 
had sat on it for three weeks. When the chicken 
was big enough he wanted to come out and so he 
went pick, peck, pick, peck, until he made a little 
hole in the shell. Then he stuck his bill through 
the hole and willed it until the shell cracked and 
he could get his head through. Then he wiggled 
it a little more and the shell broke and he could 
get his foot out. And then the shell broke right 
in two. 

As soon as the little chicken was out he went 
scritch, scratch, with his little foot. Then he ran 
to a little saucer of water. He took a little water 
in his bill; then he held his head up in the air 
while the water ran down his throat. The mother 
hen went: 

"Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck," 
and the little chicken ran to her calling : 

"Cheep, cheep, cheep." 
109 



110 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Then he heard a funny little noise. He looked 
around and what do you think he saw? Another 
egg was cracking because another little chicken 
was going pick, peck inside. Soon out of the shell 
came a little baby brother. And then he heard 
another funny little noise, and another shell broke 
and out of the shell came a little baby sister. And 
then he heard another little noise and another shell 
broke and out of the shell came still another little 
sister. This went on until there were a lot of yel- 
low baby chickens. Then all the little chickens 
went scritch, scratch, with their little feet looking 
for worms, and all the little chickens took a drink 
of water and held up their heads to let the water 
run down their throats. And all the little chickens 
ran to the mother hen calling: 

"Cheep, cheep, cheep." 

Now all the little chickens began to grow. The 
little sisters all got little bits of combs on the tops 
of their heads and under their bills. Their little 
yellow feathers turned into all kinds of colors. 
But the little brother chicken, he got a great big 
red comb on the top of his head and under his 
bill, and he got long spurs on his ankles. On his 
neck the feathers grew long and yellow and behind 
on his tail they grew very long and all shiny green. 



THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS 111 

He was walking around one morning while it 
was still dark when suddenly he felt a funny feel- 
ing in his throat. He wanted to open his mouth. 
So he did, and out of his mouth this is what came : 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo, 
Cock-a-doodle-doo." 

He thought it sounded perfectly wonderful; so 

he opened his mouth again and out came the same 

sound : 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo, 
Cock-a-doodle-doo." 

Now when his sister hens heard this wonderful 
rooster-noise they all came running out of the 
chicken house. This made the rooster more 
pleased than ever. So he threw his head way back 
and he opened his beak wide and he crowed : 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo, 
Cock-a-doodle-doo, 
I'm twice as smart as you, 
Cock-a-doodle-doo, 
See what I can do." 

When his sister hens heard him say this each 
one began to cluck and say: 

"Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I'm going to lay an egg, an egg." 



112 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Then the rooster answered : 

"Cock-a-doodle-do, 
I don't believe it's true. 
Cock-a-doodle-do, 
I don't believe it's true." 

So the little black and white hen, she ran into 
the barn and up on the side of the wall she saw a 
little box. She jumped into the little box and 
there she laid an egg. Then she said : 

"Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Robert. 
Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Robert." 

Then the little yellow hen she jumped right into 
the manger and she wiggled around in the straw 
until she made a little nest where she laid an egg. 
Then she said: 

"Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Martha. 
Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Martha." 

Then the little black hen she saw another little 
box nailed on to the wall so she jumped up on 
it and she laid an egg and then she said : 



THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS 113 

"Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Tom, for Tom, 
Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Tom." 

And then the little white hen she could not find 
any place at all. She ran around and around. 
Finally she sat right down in the soft dust which 
by this time the sun had made all warm, until 
she made a little round hollow and there she laid 
an egg. Then she said : 

"Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Peter. 
Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
I laid an egg for Peter." 

When the rooster saw all these eggs he opened 
his mouth again and bragged: 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo, 
What they say is true. 
See what they can do, 
Cock-a-doodle-doo." 

And the little hens answered : 

"Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
We can lay an egg, an egg, 
Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut, 
We can lay an egg." 



114 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

And if ever you are out in the country early in 
the morning you will hear the wonderful rooster- 
noise. And then you will hear the hens telling 
how many eggs they have laid for you. 



THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER 

The little hen goes "cut cut cut." 

The rooster he goes "cock a doodle doo! 

You want me and I want you, 

But I'm up here and you're down there." 

The little hen goes "cut cut cut," 

The rooster he steps with a funny little strut, 

He cocks his eye, gives a funny little sound, 

He looks at the hen, he looks all around, 

He flaps his wings, he beats the air, 

He stretches his neck, then flies to the ground. 

"Cock a doodle, cock a doodle, cock a doodle dool 

Now you have me and I have you I" 



MY HORSE, OLD DAN 

This verse utilizes a child's love of enumeration 
and of movement. The School has found it the most 
successful of my verse for small children. 



MY HORSE, OLD DAN 

Old Dan has two ears 
Old Dan has two eyes 
Old Dan has one mouth 
With many, many, many, many teeth. 

Old Dan has four feet 
Old Dan has four hoofs 
Old Dan has one tail 
With many, many, many, many hairs. 

Old Dan can walk, walk, 

Old Dan can trot, trot, trot, 

Old Dan can run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, 
Many, many, many, many miles. 



117 



118 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog 

The wheels go round and round and round. 
Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog 

Oh, hear what a rattlety, tattlety sound! 
Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog 

The wheels they pound and pound and pound. 
Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog 

While the wagon it rattles along the ground ! 



Auto, auto, 
May I have a ride? 
Yes, sir, yes, sir, 
Step right inside. 
Pour in the water, 




Turn on the gasolene, 

And chug, chug, away we go 

Through the country green. 



119 



HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME 

This story was worked out with the help of a five- 
year-old boy who supplied most of the content. It at 
once suggested dramatization to various groups of 
children to whom it was read. The refrains are 
definite corner posts in the story and are recognized 
as such by the children. 



HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME 



Once there was a cat. She was a black and 
white and yellow cat and the boys on the street 
called her Spot. For she was a poor cat with no 
home but the street. When she wanted to sleep, 




she 
she 
can 
ha] 
yo^ 



I nt for a dark empty cellar. When 
eat, she had to hunt for a garbage 

r Spot was very thin and very un- 

much of the time she prowled and 

lowled. 

123 



124 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Now one day Spot was prowling along the fence 
in the alley. She wanted to find a home. She 
was saying to herself : 

"Meow, meow! 
I've no place to eat, 
I've no place to sleep, 
I've only the street ! 
Meow, meow, meow!" 

Then suddenly she smelled something. Sniff! 
went her pink little nose. Spot knew it was smoke 
she smelled. The smoke came out of the chimney 
of a house. "Where there is smoke there is fire," 
thought Spot, "and where there is fire, it is warm 
to lie." So she jumped down from the fence and 
on her little padded feet ran softly to the door. 
There she saw an empty milk bottle. "Where 
there are milk bottles, there is milk," thought Spot, 
"and where there is milk, it is good to drink." So 
she slipped in through the door. 

Inside was a warm, warm kitchen. Spot trotted 
softly to the front of the stove and there she curled 
up. She was very happy, so she closed her eyes 
and began to sing: 

"Purrrr, purrrr, 
Curling up warm 
To a ball of fur, 
I close my eyes 



HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME 125 

And purr and purr. 
Purrrr, purrrr, 
Purrrr, purrrr." 

Bangl went the kitchen door. Spot opened one 
sleepy eye. In front of her stood a cross, cross 
woman. The cross, cross woman scowled. She 
picked up poor Spot and threw her out of the 
door, screaming: 

"Scat, scat! 
You old street cat! 
Scat, scat! 
And never come back!" 

With a bound Spot jumped back to the fence. 

"Meow, meow! 
I've no place to eat, 
I've no place to sleep, 
I've only the street. 
Meow, meow, meow!" 

So she trotted along the fence. In a little while 
sniff! went her little pink nose again. She smelled 
more smoke. She stopped by a house with two 
chimneys. The smoke came out of both chim- 
neys! "Where there are two fires there must be 
room for me," thought Spot. She jumped off the 
fence and pattered to the door. By the door there 
were two empty milk bottles. "Where there is so 



126 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

much milk there will be some for me," thought 
Spot. But the door was shut tight. Spot ran to 
the window. It was openl In skipped Spot. 
There was another warm, warm kitchen and there 
was another stove. Spot trotted softly to the stove 
and curled up happy and warm. She closed her 
eyes and softly sang: 

"Purrrr, purrrr, 
Curling up warm 
To a ball of fur, 
I close my eyes 
And purr and purr. 
Purrrr, purrrr, 
Purrrr, purrrr." 

"Ssssspt!" hissed something close by. Spot leapt 
to her feet. "Ssssspt 1" she answered back. For 
there in front of her stood an enormous black cat. 
His back was humped, his hair stood on end, his 
eyes gleamed and his teeth showed white. 

"Ssssspt ! leave my rug ! 
Ssssspt ! leave my fire ! 
Ssssspt I leave my milk! 
Ssssspt ! leave my home 1" 

Spot gave one great jump out of the window 
and another great jump to the top of the fence. 
For Spot was little and thin and the great black 



HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME 127 

cat was strong and big. And he didn't want Spot 
in his home. 
Poor Spot trotted along the fence, thinking : 

"Meow, meow, 
I've no place to eat, 
I've no place to sleep, 
I've only the street, 
Meow, meow, meow." 

In a little while she smelled smoke again. 
Sniff! went her little pink nose. This time she 
stopped by a house with three chimneys. The 
smoke came out of all the chimneys! "Where 
there are three fires there must be room for me," 
thought Spot. So she jumped off the fence and 
pattered to the door. By the door were three 
empty milk bottles ! "Where there is so much milk 
there must be children," thought Spot and then 
she began to feel happy. But the door was shut 
tight. She trotted to the window. The window 
was shut tight too! Then she saw some stairs. 
Up the stairs she trotted. There she found another 
door and in she slipped. She heard a very pleasant 
sound. 

"I crickle, I crackle, 
I flicker, I flare, 
I jump from nothing right into the air." 



128 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

There on the hearth burned an open fire with a 
warm, warm rug in front of it. On the rug was 
a little table and on the table were two little mugs 
-of milk. Spot curled up on the rug under the 
table and began to sing: 

"Purrrr, purrrr, 
Curling up warm 
To a ball of fur, 
I close my eyes, 
And purr and purr. 
Purrrr, purrrr, 
Purrrr, purrrr." 

Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! Spot heard 
some little feet coming. A little boy in a night- 
gown ran into the room. "Look," he called, "at 
the pretty spotted cat under our table!" Then 
pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! And a little girl in a night- 
gown ran into the room. "See," she called, "the 
pussy has come to take supper with us!" Then 
the little boy, quick as a wink, put a saucer on the 
floor and poured some of his milk into it and the 
little girl, quick as a wink, poured some of hers 
in too. 

In and out, in and out, in and out, went Spot's 
pink tongue lapping up the milk. Then she sat 
up and washed her face very carefully. Then she 



HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME 129 

curled up and closed her eyes and began to sing. 
That was her way of saying "Thank you, little 
boy and little girl! I'm so glad I've found a 
home!" 

"Purrrr, purrrr, 
Purrrr, purrrr, 
Purrrr, purrrr, purrrr." 



PEDRO'S FEET 

Here there Is a definite attempt to let the sounds 
tell their own story. 



PEDRO'S FEET 

Little Pedro was a dog. He lived in New York 
City. He was owned by a little boy who loved 
him. For Pedro had big brown eyes and curly 
brown hair and when he wanted anything he 
would go : 

"Hu-u-u, hu-u-u, hu-u-u!" And any one would 
have loved Pedro. 

One day Pedro was lying on his front steps in 
the warm, warm sun. He put his nose on his little 
fore paws and went to sleep. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went a little fly in his 
ear. 

"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws as he snapped at 
the fly. But he missed the fly. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went the little fly. 

"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws. But he missed 
the fly again. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz !" 

"Yap, yap, yap!" 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz !" 

"Yap, yap, yap, yap!" 

Up jumped Pedro. "I can't sleep with that fly 

149 



150 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

in my ear! I'll take a walk!" Down the steps 
he went. Skippety, skippety, skippety, skippety. 
He reached the sidewalk. On the sidewalk went 
his feet. You could hear them as they beat. Pit- 
ter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the 
street. 

When he came to the end of the block, he started 
across the street. Pitter patter, pitter patter, pit- 
ter pat 

"Honk, honk! Look out, look out! Honk, 
honk!" 

Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump, 
jump-jump, jump-jump, thump-thump, thump- 
thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, 
jump-jump, pitter patter, pitter patter, — he'd 
reached the other side! And the auto hadn't hurt 
him! 

Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could 
hear them as they beat pitter patter, pitter patter, 
pitter patter down the street. 

When he came to the end of this block, he 
started across the next street. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat 

"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, cloppertyl 
Get out of my way, get out of my way! Clop- 
perty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!" 






PEDRO'S FEET 151 

Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump 
jump-jump, jump-jump, thump-thump, thump- 
thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, 
jump-jump, pitter patter, pitter patter, — he'd 
reached the other side ! And the horse hadn't hurt 
him either! 

Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could 
hear them as they beat, — pitter patter, pitter patter, 
pitter patter down the street. 

When he came to the end of this block, he 
started across the next street. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat Pedro 

stopped with one little front foot up in the air. 
In the middle of the street stood a man. He had 
on high rubber boots and he held a big hose. 

Shrzshrzshrzshrzshrz — came the water out of 
the hose. It hit the street. Splsh splsh splsh splsh 
splsh! It ran in a little stream into the hole in 
the gutter, — gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble, gub- 
ble ! This was something new to Pedro. He didn't 
understand. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. He 
thought he'd better find out about it. 

"Hie, you little dog! Look out!" shouted the 
man. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. 



152 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Hie, you little dog. I say look out!" 

Pitter patter, pitter pat — ssssssssss bangl the 
water hit him! 

"Ki-eye! yow! yow!" Kathump, kathump, 
kathump, kathump ; kathump, kathump, kathump, 
kathump! Fast, fast went Pedro's feet, running, 
tearing down the street. 

"Ki-eye! I'm going home!" Kathump, ka- 
thump, kathump, kathump! Down the sidewalk, 
'cross the street, 'nother sidewalk, 'nother street, 
kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump! Pedro 
was at home. Skippety, skippety up the stairs. 
Pedro was at his own front door. 

He stopped. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr — he shook himself. 
He scattered the water all around. 

"Bow, wow, I'm glad I'm home! Bow, wow, 
I'm glad I'm home!" 

Then he lay down in the warm, warm sun. And 
he put his nose on his little fore paws. And he 
closed his eyes and he went to sleep. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz !" 

But Pedro was too sound asleep to hear the fly. 

"Whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhu- 
hu." That's the way he was breathing. For he 
was oh, so sound asleep ! And there he is sleeping 
now. 






HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED 
THE KNOWING SONG 

This story stresses the relationship of use in 
response to what seems to be a five-year-old method 
of thinking. 

The school has found it best to let the younger 
children take the parts individually but to omit the 
parts in unison. The joy of the mere noise makes it 
difficult to bring them back for the close of the story. 
All the children have repeated the refrains after a 
few readings with evident enjoyment. 






PEDRO'S FEET 

Here there is a definite attempt to let the sounds 
tell their own story. 



PEDRO'S FEET 

Little Pedro was a dog. He lived in New York 
City. He was owned by a little boy who loved 
him. For Pedro had big brown eyes and curly 
brown hair and when he wanted anything he 
would go : 

"Hu-u-u, hu-u-u, hu-u-u!" And any one would 
have loved Pedro. 

One day Pedro was lying on his front steps in 
the warm, warm sun. He put his nose on his little 
fore paws and went to sleep. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went a little fly in his 
ear. 

"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws as he snapped at 
the fly. But he missed the fly. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went the little fly. 

"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws. But he missed 
the fly again. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz !" 

"Yap, yap, yap!" 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz I" 

"Yap, yap, yap, yap!" 

Up jumped Pedro. "I can't sleep with that fly 

149 



150 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

in my ear! I'll take a walk!" Down the steps 
he went. Skippety, skippety, skippety, skippety. 
He reached the sidewalk. On the sidewalk went 
his feet. You could hear them as they beat. Pit- 
ter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the 
street. 

When he came to the end of the block, he started 
across the street. Pitter patter, pitter patter, pit- 
ter pat 

"Honk, honk! Look out, look out! Honk, 
honk!" 

Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump, 
jump-jump, jump-jump, thump-thump, thump- 
thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, 
jump-jump, pitter patter, pitter patter, — he'd 
reached the other side! And the auto hadn't hurt 
him! 

Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could 
hear them as they beat pitter patter, pitter patter, 
pitter patter down the street. 

When he came to the end of this block, he 
started across the next street. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat 

"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty! 
Get out of my way, get out of my way! Clop- 
perty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!" 



PEDRO'S FEET 151 

Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump 
jump-jump, jump-jump, thump-thump, thump- 
thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, 
jump-jump, pitter patter, pitter patter, — he'd 
reached the other side! And the horse hadn't hurt 
him either! 

Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could 
hear them as they beat, — pitter patter, pitter patter, 
pitter patter down the street. 

When he came to the end of this block, he 
started across the next street. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat Pedro 

stopped with one little front foot up in the air. 
In the middle of the street stood a man. He had 
on high rubber boots and he held a big hose. 

Shrzshrzshrzshrzshrz — came the water out of 
the hose. It hit the street. Splsh splsh splsh splsh 
splsh! It ran in a little stream into the hole in 
the gutter, — gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble, gub- 
ble! This was something new to Pedro. He didn't 
understand. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. He 
thought he'd better find out about it. 

"Hie, you little dog! Look out!" shouted the 
man. 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. 



152 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Hie, you little dog. I say look outl" 

Pitter patter, pitter pat — ssssssssss bangl the 
water hit him! 

"Ki-eye! yow! yow!" Kathump, kathump, 
kathump, kathump ; kathump, kathump, kathump, 
kathump! Fast, fast went Pedro's feet, running, 
tearing down the street. 

"Ki-eye! I'm going home!" Kathump, ka- 
thump, kathump, kathump! Down the sidewalk, 
'cross the street, 'nother sidewalk, 'nother street, 
kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump! Pedro 
was at home. Skippety, skippety up the stairs. 
Pedro was at his own front door. 

He stopped. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr — he shook himself. 
He scattered the water all around. 

"Bow, wow, I'm glad I'm home! Bow, wow, 
I'm glad I'm home!" 

Then he lay down in the warm, warm sun. And 
he put his nose on his little fore paws. And he 
closed his eyes and he went to sleep. 

"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz !" 

But Pedro was too sound asleep to hear the fly. 

"Whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhu- 
hu." That's the way he was breathing. For he 
was oh, so sound asleep! And there he is sleeping 
now. 



HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED 
THE KNOWING SONG 

This story stresses the relationship of use in 
response to what seems to be a five-year-old method 
of thinking. 

The school has found it best to let the younger 
children take the parts individually but to omit the 
parts in unison. The joy of the mere noise makes it 
difficult to bring them back for the close of the story. 
All the children have repeated the refrains after a 
few readings with evident enjoyment. 



HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE 
KNOWING SONG 

Once there was a new engine. He had a great 
big boiler; he had a smoke stack; he had a bell; 
he had a whistle; he had a sand-dome; he had 
a headlight; he had four big driving wheels; he 
had a cab. But he was very sad, was this engine, 
for he didn't know how to use any of his parts. 
All around him on the tracks were other engines, 
puffing or whistling or ringing their bells and 
squirting steam. One big engine moved his wheels 
slowly, softly muttering to himself, "I'm going, 
I'm going, I'm going." Now the new engine knew 
this was the end of the Knowing Song of Engines. 
He wanted desperately to sing it. So he called 
out: 

"I want to go 
But I don't know how; 
I want to know, 
Please teach me now. 
Please somebody teach me how." 

Now there were two men who had come just 
on purpose to teach him how. And who do you 

155 



156 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

suppose they were? The engineer and the fire- 
man! When the engineer heard the new engine 
call out, he asked, "What do you want, new 
engine?" 

And the engine answered : 

"I want the sound 
Of my wheels going round. 
I want to stream 
A jet of steam. 
I want to puff 
Smoke and stuff. 
I want to ring 
Ding, ding-a-ding. 
I want to blow 
My whistle so. 
I want my light 
To shine out bright. 

I want to go ringing and singing the song, 
The humming song of the engine coming, 
The clear, near song of the engine here, 
The knowing song of the engine going." 

Now the engineer and the fireman were pleased 
when they heard what the new engine wanted. 
But the engineer said : 

"All in good time, my engine, 
Steady, steady, 
'Til you're ready. 
Learn to know 
Before you go." 



THE KNOWING SONG OF THE ENGINE 157 

Then he said to the fireman, "First we must give 
our engine some water." So they put the end of 
a hose hanging from a big high-up tank right into 




a little tank under the engine's tender. The water 
filled up this little tank and then ran into the big 
boiler and filled that all up too. And while they 
were doing this the water kept saying: 

"I am water from a stream 
When I'm hot I turn to steam." 

When the engine felt his boiler full of water he 
asked eagerly: 



158 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Now I have water, 
Now do I know 
How I should go?" 

But the fireman said : 

"All in good time, my engine, 
Steady, steady, 
'Til you're ready, 
Learn to know 
Before you go." 

Then he said to the engineer, "Now we must give 
our engine some coal." So they filled the tender 
with coal, and then under the boiler the fireman 
built a fire. Then the fireman began blowing and 
the coals began glowing. And as he built the 
fire, the fire said: 

"I am fire, 
The coal I eat 
To make the heat 
To turn the stream 
Into the steam." 

When the engine felt the sleeping fire wake up 
and begin to live inside him and turn the water 
into steam he said eagerly: 

"Now I have water, 
Now I have coal, 
Now do I know 
How I should go?" 



THE KNOWING SONG OF THE ENGINE 159 

But the engineer said : 

"All in good time, my engine, 
Steady, steady, 
'Til you're ready. 
Learn to know 
Before you go." 

Then he said to the fireman, "We must oil our 
engine well." So they took oil cans with funny 
long noses and they oiled all the machinery, the 
piston-rods, the levers, the wheels, everything that 
moved or went round. And all the time the oil 
kept saying : 

"No creak, 
No squeak." 

When the engine felt the oil smoothing all his 
machinery, he said eagerly: 

"Now I have water, 
Now I have coal, 
Now I am oiled, 
Now do I know 
How I should go?" 

But the fireman said : 

"All in good time, my engine, 
Steady, steady, 
'Til you're ready. 
Learn to know 
Before you go." 



160 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Then he said to the engineer, "We must give our 
engine some sand." So they took some sand and 
they filled the sand domes on top of the boiler so 
that he could send sand down through his two 
little pipes and sprinkle it in front of his wheels 
when the rails were slippery. And all the time 
the sand kept saying: 

"When ice drips, 
And wheel slips, 
I am sand 
Close at hand." 

When the new engine felt his sand-dome filled 
with sand he said eagerly : 

"Now I have water, 
Now I have coal, 
Now I am oiled, 
Now I have sand, 
Now do I know 
How I should go?" 

But the engineer said : 

"All in good time, my engine, 
Steady, steady, 
'Til you're ready. 
Learn to know 
Before you go." 

Then he said to the fireman, "We must light our 
engine's headlight." So the fireman took a cloth 



THE KNOWING SONG OF THE ENGINE 161 

and he wiped the mirror behind the light and 

polished the brass around it. Then he filled the 

lamp with oil. Then the engineer struck a match 

and lighted the lamp and closed the little door 

in front of it. And all the time the light kept 

saying: 

"I'm the headlight shining bright 
Like a sunbeam through the night." 

Now when the engine saw the great golden path 

of brightness streaming out ahead of him, he said 

eagerly : 

"Now I have water, 
Now I have coal, 
Now I am oiled, 
Now I have sand, 
Now I make light, 
Now do I know 
How I should go?" 

And the engineer said, "We will see if you are 
ready, my new engine." So he climbed into the 
cab and the fireman got in behind him. Then he 
said, "Engine, can you blow your whistle so?" 
And he pulled a handle which let the steam into 
the whistle and the engine whistled (who wants 
to be the whistle?) "Toot, toot, toot." Then he 
said, "Can you puff smoke and stuff?" And the 
engine puffed black smoke (who wants to be the 



THE KNOWING SONG OF THE ENGINE 163 

smoke?), saying, "Puff, puff, puff, puff, puff." 
Then he said, "Engine, can you squirt a stream of 
steam?" And he opened a valve (who wants to 
be the steam?) and the engine went, "Szszszszsz." 
Then he said, "Engine, can you sprinkle sand?" 
And he pulled a little handle (who wants to be 
the sand?) and the sand trickled drip, drip, drip, 
down on the tracks in front of the engine's wheels. 
Then he said, "Engine, does your light shine out 
bright?" And he looked (who wants to be the 
headlight?) and there was a great golden flood 
of light on the track in front of him. Then he 
said, "Engine, can you make the sound of your 
wheels going round?" And he pulled another 
lever and the great wheels began to move (who 
wants to be the wheels?) Then the engineer said: 

"Now is the time, 
Now is the time. 
Steady, steady, 
Now you are ready. 

Blow whistle, ring bell, puff smoke, hiss steam, sprinkle 
sand, shine light, turn wheels ! 

'Tis time to be ringing and singing the song, 
The humming song of the engine coming, 
The clear, near song of the engine here, 
The knowing song of the engine going." 



164 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Then whistle blew, bell rang, smoke puffed, steam 
hissed, sand sprinkled, light shone and wheels 
turned like this: (Eventually the children can do 
this together, each performing his chosen part.) 

"Toot-toot, ding-a-ding, puff-puff, 
Szszszszsz, drip-drip, chug-chug." 

(After a moment stop the children) 
That's the way the new engine sounded when 
he started on his first ride and didn't know how 
to do things very well. But that's not the way he 
sounded when he had learned to go really smooth 
and fast. Then it was that he learned really to 
sing "The Knowing Song of the Engine." He 
sang it better than any one else for he became the 
fastest, the steadiest, the most knowing of all ex- 
press engines. And this is the song he sang. You 
could hear it humming on the rails long before he 
came and hear it humming on the rails long after 
he had passed. Now listen to the song. 
(Begin very softly rising to a climax with "I'm 
here" and gradually dying to a faint whisper) 

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, 

I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, 

I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming. 

I'm Coming, I'm Coming, I'm Coming, I'm 
Coming, 



THE KNOWING SONG OF THE ENGINE 165 

I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M 

HERE, 
I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M 

HERE. 
I'm Going, I'm Going, I'm Going, I'm Going, 
I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, 
I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, 
I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going." 



THE FOG BOAT STORY 

The refrains must be intoned if not sung to get 
the proper effect. Most of the informational parts 
of the original story have been cut out. The story 
grew out of questions asked before breakfast on foggy 
days, and was originally told to the sound of the dis- 
tant fog horns. 



THE FOG BOAT STORY 

Early, early one morning, all the fog boats were 
talking. This is the way they were going : 

"Toot, toot, toot, too-oot, to-oo-oot!" (on many 
different keys.) 



Way down at the wharf a big steamer was being 
pulled out into the river. The furnaces were all 
going for the stokers were down in the hole shovel- 
ing coal, down in the hole shoveling coal, 

169 



170 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

shoveling coal, and a lot of black smoke was 
coming out of the smoke stack. And the engines 
were working, chug, chug, chug. And all the 
baggage and freight had been put down in the 
hold. And all the food had been put on the ice. 
And all the passengers were on board and the 
gang-plank had been pulled up. And this is what 
the big steamer was saying: 



"Toot toot I'm mov- ing; toot toot I'm mov - ing." 

And do you know what was making the steamer 
move? What was pulling her out into the river? 
It was a little tug boat and the tug boat had hold 
of one end of a big rope and the other end of 
the rope was tied fast to the steamer. And the 
little tug boat was puffing and chucking and work- 
ing away as hard as he could and calling out: 

Fast 



"Too too too too toot I'm rw - fill smart; too too too too toot I pall big thlngi." 

And do you know why the tug boat and the 
steamer were talking like this? It is because they 
were afraid they might bump into some other ship 
in the fog for they can't see in the fog. You know 
how white and thick the fog can be. 



THE FOG BOAT STORY 



171 



So the old steamer and the little tug boat both 
kept tooting until they were way out in the middle 
of the river. 

"Toot, toot, I'm moving." "Tootootootootoot, 
I'm awful smart." 




Now when they were way out in the middle of 
the river, the little tug boat dropped the rope from 
the big steamer and turned around. As it puffed 
away it called out : 

"Too-too-too-tootoot, I'm going home 
Too-too-too-tootoot, I'm awful smart." 

Then the big steamer moved slowly down the 
river towards the great ocean calling through the 
fog: 



172 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Toot, toot, I'm moving." 

Up on the captain's bridge stood the pilot. He 
is the man who tells just where to make the 
steamer go in the harbor. He knows where every- 
thing is. He knows where the rocks are on the 
right and he didn't let the steamer bump them. 
He knows where the sand reef is on the left and 
he didn't let the steamer get on to that. He knows 
just where the deep water is and he kept the 
steamer in it all the time. 

Now down on the right so close that it almost 
bumped, there went a flat boat. This boat was 
saying : 



"Toot toot My load is heavy, load is heavy, load is heavy, toot," 

And that was a coal barge. And then down on 
the left so close that it almost bumped on the other 
side they heard another boat saying : 



"Too toot, back & forth ; Too toot, back k forth" 

And that was a ferry boat! Then off on the right 
they heard a great big deep voice. This is what it 
said: 



THE FOG BOAT STORY 



173 




toot, 



And that was a war boat! And every time the old 
steamer answered: 

"Toot, toot, I'm moving." 

Once off on the left the passengers could hear 
this: 



"Ding — i — g! dong- 



Hear my song- 
Ding g! dong- 



■g 



-gt" 



And what bell do you think that was way out 
there? A bell buoy rocking on the water! Every 
time the wave went up it said, "ding" and every 
time the wave went down it said, "dong." 

By this time the old steamer was out of the har- 
bor way out in the open sea. The pilot came 
down from the captain's deck; he climbed down 
the rope ladder to the little pilot boat that was 
tied close to the big steamer. Then the little pilot 
boat pushed away into the fog calling: 



'Too too toot too toot I'm go • ing go • ing home' 



And again the big steamer answered : 



VPS HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Toot, toot, I'm moving." 

Then way off on the left so far away it could 
barely hear it, it heard: 



'Don't hit me, [toot toot, don't hit ^me, toot toot" 




And that was a sail boat! Then way off on the 
right so far away it could barely hear it, it heard 

"Toot, toot, I'm moving" 

and that was another steamer. 
And again the big steamer answered: 



THE FOG BOAT STORY 175 

\ 

"Toot, toot, I'm moving." 

And so the old steamer went out into the fog 
calling, calling so that no boat would hit it. And 
all the other boats that passed it, they went call- 
ing, calling too. 



HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE 

This story is a slight extension of the children's 
own experience. It is purposely limited to the tools 
they themselves handle familiarly. 



HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE 

Once there was a carpenter. He had built him- 
self a fine new house. And now it was all done. 
The walls, the floors and the roof were done. The 
stairs were done. The windows and doors were 
done. And the carpenter had moved into his new 
house. 

In his house he had a stove and he had electric 
lights. He had beds and chairs and bureaus and 
bookcases. He had everything except a table to 
eat off of. He still had to stand up when he ate 
his meals! 

So the carpenter thought he would make him 
a table. But he had no lumber left. So off he 
went to the lumber mill. At the lumber mill he 
saw lots and lots of lumber piled in the yard. The 
carpenter told the man at the lumber mill just 
how much lumber he wanted and just how long 
he wanted it and how broad he wanted it and how 
thick he wanted it. 

So the man at the lumber mill put all this lum- 
ber, — just what the carpenter had ordered, — on a 

wagon and sent it out to the carpenter's house. 

179 



180 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



And then the carpenter began. He said to him- 
self, "First I must make my boards just the right 
length." So he measured a board just as long as 




he wanted the top to be; then he put the board 

on a sawhorse and he took his saw and began to 

saw: 

"Zzzu," went the saw, 
"Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu." 

The sawdust flew 

The saw ripped through 
Down dropped the board sawed right in two. 

And then the carpenter took another board and 
he measured this just the same length. Then he 



HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE 181 

put this board on the sawhorse and he took the 
saw and began to saw : 

"Zzzu," went the saw, 
"Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu." 

The sawdust flew 

The saw ripped through 
Down dropped the board sawed right in two. 

And then the carpenter took still another board 
and "Zzzu," went the saw until this board too was 
sawed right in two. Then he had enough for the 
top of the table. Then he took the pieces that were 
going to make the legs and he sawed four of them 
just the right length. Then he sawed the boards 
that were going to be the braces until they too were 
just the right length. And underneath his saw- 
horse there was a little pile of sawdust. 

Then after this the carpenter says to himself, "I 
must make my boards smooth." So he puts a board 
in the vise and he begins to plane the board. 

The plane he guides 
The plane it glides 
It smooths, it slides 
All over the sides. 

And when this board is all smooth, the carpenter 
takes it out of the vise and puts in another board. 
Then he takes his plane. 



182 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

The plane he guides 
The plane it glides 
It smooths, it slides 
All over the sides. 

And then the carpenter takes still another board 
and he guides and slides the plane until this board 
too is all smooth. And he does this until all the 
boards that are going to make the top and the 
legs and the braces are all smooth. And under- 
neath his bench there is a pile of shavings. 

And then the carpenter he says to himself, "I 
must nail my boards together." So he puts the 
boards that are going to make the top together 
and he takes a nail and then he swings his 
hammer: 

The hammer it gives a swinging pound. 
The nail it gives a ringing sound. 

Bing! bang! bing! bing! 
And the boards are tight together! 

And then the carpenter takes another piece of 
the top and puts it beside the other two and he 
takes another nail and then he swings his hammer 
again. 

The hammer it gives a swinging pound. 
The nail it gives a ringing sound. 

Bing! bang! Bing! bing! 
And the boards are tight together! 



HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE 183 

And then the carpenter takes one piece that is 
going to be a leg and he holds it so it stands right 
out from the top, and he takes another nail and 
he nails the leg to the top. Bing! bang! bing! 
bing! He does this with the other three legs of 
his table. And then he has four strong legs and 
the top of his table all nailed together. 

Then the carpenter he says to himself, "I'll put 
some boards across and make it stronger." So he 
takes some boards sawed just the right length, and 
he nails them across underneath the top, bing! 
bang! bing! bing! And then he has a table! 

So the carpenter lifts his table out into the mid- 
dle of his room and he puts a chair beside it. 
When he sits down he is smiling all over. For 
the table is just the right size and just the right 
height and it is strong and good to look at. The 
carpenter is so glad to have a table to eat off of 
that he says to himself : 

"Now isn't it grand? 

I won't have to stand 
While eating my dinner again! 

For now I am able 

To sit at the table 
I made with saw, hammer and plane !" 



THE ELEPHANT 

This was written with the help of eight-year-old 
children who were trying to make everything sound 
"heavy" and "slow." 



THE ELEPHANT 

The little boy had never before been to the Zoo. 
He walked up close to the high iron fence. On 
the other side he saw a huge wrinkled grey lump 
slowly sway to one side and then slowly sway back 
to the other. And as it swayed from side to side 
its great long wrinkled trunk swung slowly too. 
The little boy followed the trunk with his eye up 
to the huge head of the great wrinkled grey lump. 
There were enormous torn worn flapping ears. 
And there, too, embedded like jewels in a leather 
wall sparkled two little eyes. These eyes were 
fastened on the little boy. They seemed to shine 
in the dull wrinkled skin. Slowly the huge mass 
began to move. Slowly one heavy padded foot 
came up and then went down with a soft thud. 
Then came another soft thud and another and an- 
other. Suddenly the monstrous trunk waved, 
curled, lifted, stretched and stretched, until its soft 
pink end was thrust through the high iron fence 
and the little boy could look up into the fleshy 
yawning red mouth. The little boy drew back 
from the high iron fence. The end of the trunk 

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188 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

wiggled and wriggled around feeling its way up 
and down a rod of the fence; the great body 
swayed from one heavy foot to the other; and all 
the time the bright little eyes were fastened on 
the boy. 

The little boy looked and looked and looked 
again. He could hardly believe his eyes. 
"Whewl" he said at last, "so that's an elephant 1" 



HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE 

The classifications and most of the expressions were 
suggested by a child. 



HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE 

The lion, he has paws with claws, 
The horse, he walks on hooves, 

The worm, he lies right on the ground 
And wriggles when he moves! 

The seal, he moves with swimming feet, 
The moth, has wings like a sail, 

The fly he clings ; the bird he wings, 
The monkey swings by his tail ! 

But boys and girls 
With feet and hands 
Can walk and run 
And swim and stand! 



191 



THE SEA-GULL 

All the material and most of the expressions are 
taken from a story by a six-year-old. It was put into 
rhythm because the children wished "the words to 
go like the waves." 



THE SEA-GULL 

Feel the waves go rocking, rocking, 
Feel them roll and roll and roll. 

On the top there sits a sea-gull 
And he's rocking with the waves. 

Now 'tis evening and he's weary- 
So he's resting on the waves. 

When he woke in early morning 

Like a flash he spied a fish. 
Quick he flew and quickly diving 

Snapped the fish and ate him straight. 
Then he screamed for he was happy. 

Then he spied another fish 
Quick he flew and quickly diving 

Snapped the fish and ate him straight. 
So he played while shone the sunshine, 

Catching fish and screaming hoarse 
Till he was quite out of hunger, 

And would rest him on the waves. 
Once he flapped and flapped his great wings, 

Soaring like an aeroplane. 

Down below him lay the ocean 

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196 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Like a wrinkled crinkly thing, 
And giant steamers looked like toy ones 
Slowly moving on the waves. 

Now the moonshine's making silver 
All the tossing, rocking waves. 

And the sea-gull looks like silver 
And his great wings look like silver 
Pressing close his silver side, 

And his sharp beak looks like silver 
Tucked beneath his silver wings. 

For beneath the silver moonlight 
See, the sea-gull's gone to sleep. 

Rocking, rocking on the water, 

Sleeping, sleeping on the waves, 

Rocking — sleeping — sleeping — rocking, 

Fast asleep upon the waves. 



THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP 

It has seemed appropriate to let the children realize 
the incessant quality of farm work before that of the 
factory. 



THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP 

The farmer woke up in the morning 

And sleepy as sleepy was he, 
He turned in his bed and he grouchily said: 

"Today I will sleep! Let me be, let me be! 
Today I will sleep! Let me be!" 

Now Puss in the corner she heard 
She heard what the farmer had said, 

She ran to the barn and she mewed in alarm; 
"The farmer will sleep in his bed, in his bed! 
Today he will sleep in his bed!" 

Then Horse in the stable looked up, 
He whinneyed and shook his old head; 

"Shall I stand here all day without any hay? 
Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!" he said, 

so he said, 
"Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!" he said. 

But the farmer he tight closed his eyes 

For sleepy as sleepy was he, 
He turned in his bed and he angrily said: 

"Horse, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be! 

Horse, I will sleep! Let me be!" 
199 



200 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Down under the barn in the dirt 

Pig heard what the Pussy cat mewed. 
"Can he give me the scraps when he's taking his 
naps? 
Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food, oh, my 

food! 
Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food!" 

But the farmer he tight closed his ears 

For sleepy as sleepy was he, 
He turned in his bed and he sulkily said : 

"Pig, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be! 
Pig, I will sleep! Let me be!" 

Now Rooster with Chickens and Hen 

Had been crowing since early that morn, 
And he crowed when he heard this terrible word : 
"Cock-a-doo ! Farmer, give us our corn, us our 
corn! 
Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn." 

But the farmer he pulled up the covers 

For sleepy as sleepy was he, 
He turned in his bed and crossly he said: 

"Cock, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be! 
Cock, I will sleep! Let me be!" 



THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP 201 

Cow heard in the pasture and lowed; 

"My cud no longer I chew, 
I stand by the gate and I wait and I wait, 

Oh, Farmer, come milk me! Moo-oo, moo-oo! 

Oh, Farmer, come milk me, moo-oo I" 

But the farmer got under the covers, 

For sleepy as sleepy was he, 
He turned in his bed and fiercely he said, 

"Cow, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be! 
Cow, I will sleep! Let me be!" 

Then Horse he broke from the stable, 

And Pig he broke from the pen, 
And Cow jumped the fence though she hadn't 
much sense, 

And Cock called Chickens and Hen, and Hen, 

He called to Chickens and Hen. 

Then up to the farm house door 

All followed the Pussy who knew. 
Horse whinneyed, Cock crowed, Pig grunted, Cow 
lowed ; 
"Get up, Farmer! Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee- 
wee, mooo ! 
Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, moooo I" 



202 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

The farmer down under the covers, 

He heard and he groaned and he sighed. 

He wearily rose and he put on his clothes; 
"They need me, I'm coming, I'm coming," he 

cried, 
"They need me, I'm coming," he cried. 

"I'll feed Horse, Chickens and Pig, 

I'll milk old Cow," said he, 
"And when this is done, my work's just begun, 

Today I must work, so I see, so I see! 

Today I must work, so I see!" 

So he fed Horse, Chickens and Pig 

And afterwards milked old Cow. 
For Farmer must work, he never can shirk! 

Today he is working, right now, right now! 

Today he is working right now! 



WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS ! 

All the essential points in this story were taken from 
the story of a four-year-old's about a horse. He 
enjoyed the nonsense in telling it. Some of the four- 
year-old groups have appreciated the humor; some 
five-year-olds have not. Instead they have seemed 
confused. 



WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER- 
WAS! 

Once there was a wonderful cow, — only she 
never was ! She always had been wonderful, ever 
since she was a baby calf. Her mother noticed it 
at once. She was born out in the pasture one 
sunny morning in June. As soon as she was born, 
she got up on her long, thin legs. She wobbled 
quite a little for she wasn't very strong. Then she 
went over to her mother and put her nose down 
to her mother's bag and took a drink of milk. This 
is what all the old cow's babies had always done 
so the old cow thought nothing of that. But when 
this wonderful last baby calf had drunk its break- 
fast, what do you suppose it did? It stood on its 
head ! Now the old cow had never seen anything 
like this. It was most surprising! It frightened 
her. She called to it: 

"Oh, my baby, baby calf, 
Your mother kindly begs, 
Please, please get off your head 
And stand upon your legs !" 
205 



206 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

But the baby calf only mooed. And it smiled 
when it mooed which the old cow thought queer 
too. None of her other babies had smiled. Then 
the calf said: 

"I'm a wonderful calf, 
And it makes me laugh 
Such wonderful things can I do ! 
I stand on my head 
Whenever I'm fed, 
And smile whenever I moo, 

I do, 
I smile whenever I moo !" 

"Dear me!" thought the old mother cow. "I 
never saw or heard anything like this!" 

But this was only the beginning. The baby calf 
kept on doing strange and wonderful things till 
at last everyone called her Wonderful-calf-that- 
never-was ! And many people used to come to see 
her stand on her head whenever she was fed. She 
did other queer things too! Once she pulled off 
the ear of another calf! And all she said was: 
"Poor little calf! You mustn't go in the pasture 
where there are other calves!" But the little calf 
who had lost its ear said, "Yes, I must!" But 
after that Wonderf ul-calf-that-never-was was kept 
in the barn for a long time. 

At last it was June again and she was a year old. 



WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS ! 207 

Her horns had begun to grow. The old cow, her 
mother, had another baby. This new baby calf 
was just like other calves and not wonderful at 
all. The old cow was glad for Wonderful-cow- 
that-never-was worried her very much. For 
everything about her was queer. One day the calf 
who had lost the ear, — she was a young cow now, 
— took hold of the tail of Wonderful-young-cow- 
that-never-was and pulled it. And what do you 
suppose happened? The tail broke right off! All 
the cows were frightened. Whoever heard of a 
broken tail? But Wonderful-young-cow-that- 
never-was only mooed and when she mooed she 
always smiled. Then she said: 

"I'm a wonderful cow 
And I don't know how 
Such wonderful things I do ! 
If I break my tail, 
I never fail 
To glue with a grasshopper's goo, 

I do, 
I glue with a grasshopper's goo 1" 

And so she did. She got a grasshopper to give 
her some sticky stuff and she smeared it on the 
two ends of her broken tail and stuck them to- 
gether. "And now it's as good as new," she said, 
"and now it's as good as new!" 



208 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Her horns grew and grew. She was very proud 
of them and was always trying to hook some one 
or gore another cow with them. But one day she 
went to the edge of the lake when it was very still. 
It wasn't wavy at all. And as she leaned over 
to drink, she saw herself in the water. My mercy 1 
but she was shocked 1 

"My horns are straight!" she screamed, "and I 
want them curly!" She ran to the old mother cow 
and had what her mother called the "Krink- 
kranks." She jumped up and down and bellowed: 
"My horns are straight and I want them curly!" 

The old mother cow was giving her new baby 
some milk. It made her cross to hear Wonderf ul- 
cow-that-never-was having krink-kranks over her 
horns. "Horns grow the way they grow!" she re- 
marked crossly. "So what are you going to do 
about it?" 

"Something!" answered the young cow. "I'm 
not Wonderf ul-cow-that-never-was for nothing!" 
And she stopped having krink-kranks and went off. 
She stayed away all day and when she did come 
back, her horns were curled up tight! And she 
was chewing and smiling and chewing and 
smiling. 

"What have you done now?" gasped the old 



WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS ! 209 

mother cow. "I never saw horns curled so 
crumply!" 
The young cow smiled and said : 

"I'm a wonderful cow 
And I don't know how 
Such wonderful things I do ! 
I curl my horn 
On the cob of a corn 
And smile whenever I chew, 

I do, 
I smile whenever I chew I" 

"And here is the corn cob I curled them on," she 
said, opening her mouth. And sure enough, there 
was the corn cob! 

Now Wonderful-cow-that-never-was got queer- 
er and queerer until the farmer thought her a 
little too queer. She was very proud of her 
crumpled horns and tried to hook everyone on 
them. Once she tore the farmer's coat trying to 
hook him. And once she did toss him up. She 
watched him in the air and all she said was "He's 
up now, but he'll come down some time." And 
bang! So he did! 

Finally one terrible day, they tied her tight and 
cut off her horns. She was never the same after- 
wards. She couldn't hook any more. "I don't 



210 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

care about being queer any more," she said to her 
mother. And she wasn't. She stopped standing 
on her head. She never pulled off another ear. 
She never broke her tail again and of course she 
never curled her horns again. Because she hadn't 
any! "After all," she said, "it's wonderful enough 
just to be a cow and have four stomachs and chew 
cud and give milk and have a baby each Spring 1" 
And that's what she's doing now! 

She's a wonderful cow, 

And anyhow 
She does a wonderful thing! 

She wallows in mud, 

She chews her cud, 
And has a baby in Spring ! 



THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE 

This story was worked out with a five-year-old boy. 
It is the result of his own summer experiences on a 
lake. 



THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE 

Once there was a little lake. And many things 
loved the little lake for its water was clear and 
smooth and blue when it was sunshiny, and dark 




and wavy and cross-looking when it was rainy. 
Now one of the things that loved the little lake 
was a little fish. He was a slippery shiny little 
fish all covered with slippery shiny scales. He 



213 



214 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

lived in the shadow of a big rock near a deep, 
dark, cool pool. And when his wide-open shiny 
eye saw a little fly fall on the top of the water, he 
would flip his slippery, shiny tail and wave his 
slippery, shiny fins and dart out and up and — snap! 
he'd have the fly inside him! Then like a shiny 
streak he'd quietly slip back to the cool, deep, 
dark pool. 

Another thing that loved the little lake was a 
spotted green frog. He too lived near the big 
rock. He would squat like a lump on the top in 
the sun, blinking his bright little eyes. Then 
splash! jump he would go, plump into the water. 
He'd keep his funny head with the little blinking, 
bright eyes above water while he'd kick his long, 
spotted, green legs and he'd swim across to an- 
other rock. At first he used to frighten the slip- 
pery shiny little fish when he came tumbling into 
the quiet water. But the spotted green frog never 
did anything to hurt the little fish so the slippery 
shiny little fish didn't mind him after all. But at 
night what do you think the spotted green frog 
did? He squatted on the rock with his front feet 
toeing in, like this, and he looked up at the far- 
away white moon in the far-away dark sky, and 
then he swelled and he swelled and he swelled his 
throat, and then he opened his wide, wide mouth 



THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE 215 

and out came a noise. Oh, such a noise! "K-K-K- 
Krink!! K-K-K-Krank!!" All night the spotted 
frog swelled his throat and croaked at the moon. 

Now another thing that loved the little lake 
was a beautiful wild duck. The wild duck had 
beautiful green and brown feathers and on his 
head he had a little green top-knot. Every year 
he flew north from the warm south where he had 
been spending the winter. High up in the air he 
flew, leading many other beautiful wild ducks. 
He flew with his head stretched out and his feet 
tucked up close to his body and his strong wings 
flapping, flapping, flapping like great fans. And 
as he flew way up in the air his keen eye would see 
the little lake glistening down below. "Quonk- 
quonk!" he would call. And the other wild ducks 
would answer, "Quonk-quonk-quonk!" And then 
they would swoop, right down to the little lake 
and they'd light right on the water. There they 
would sit, rocking on the little waves or swimming 
about with their red webbed feet. Oh, the wild 
ducks loved the little lake very much! 

But not the slippery shiny fish, not the spotted 
green frog, not the beautiful wild duck loves 
the lake as much as some one else does. I 
don't believe any one else loves the little lake as 
much as does the little summer boy! Sometimes 



216 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

the little summer boy goes rowing on top of the 
lake. He leans way forward and stretches his 
oars way back, then he puts them into the water 
and pulls as hard as ever he can — splash — splash 

— splash — splash ! And the boat glides and 

slides right over the water! Sometimes, — and this 
he loves better still, — he stands on the rock in his 
red bathing suit. Then plump! he jumps right 
into the water! Sometimes he goes feetwards and 
sometimes he goes headwards and sometimes he 
turns a somersault in the air before he touches the 
water. And then away he goes moving his arms 
and kicking his legs almost like the spotted green 
frog. But the little fish when he hears this great 
thing come splashing into the quiet water, he flips 
his slippery shiny tail and waves his slippery shiny 
fins and darts way out into the deep water where 
the little boy with the red bathing suit can't fol- 
low him. For to the little fish this little summer 
boy seems very queer, and very, very noisy, and 
very, very, VERY enormous ! And the spotted green 
frog too gets out of the way when the little boy 
comes racketing into the water. He hops, hops 
under the rocks into a safe little cave and from 
there he watches and blinks his bright little eyes. 
But he never croaks then! The little summer boy 
knows the green frog is there and sometimes he 



THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE 217 

peeks at him and thinks "I wish I could make my 
back legs go like yours!" For he's often seen the 
spotted green frog swim from rock to rock. 

But the beautiful wild duck, he never saw the 
little summer boy. For long before the boy came 
to the little lake, the duck had left the lake far 
behind. Early one morning in Spring he flapped 
his strong wings and tucked his wet webbed feet 
up close to his body and stretched out his long neck 
and calling "Quonk-quonk!" he flapped away to 
the north. And all the other beautiful wild ducks 
followed calling, "Quonk-quonk-quonk!" So the 
little summer boy never knew the wild duck! 

It is too bad that the fish and the frog are scared 
away when the summer boy goes in bathing. But 
it is only for a little while anyway. For the little 
summer boy's mother doesn't let him play in the 
lake all day as does the mother of the slippery 
shiny fish and the mother of the spotted green 
frog. She has called him now, and he calls back, 
"One more time!" for no one loves the little lake 
as much as the little boy in the red bathing suit. 
He has climbed up on the rock. The water is run- 
ning down him, for he is as wet as a baby seal. 
Now he puts out his hands, like this, and he calls 
out, "This time I'm going to take a headwards 
dive!" 



218 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

In the lake they play, 

The spotted green frog 
And the slippery shiny fish. 

They frisk and they whisk, 

And they dip and they flip. 

And the water it glimmers, 

It ripples and twinkles 
When the frog and the fishes play. 

In the lake they play, 

The beautiful duck 
And the rackety summer boy. 

When the wild duck swims 

The water it skims. 

But the boy with a shout 

He plumps in, he jumps out. 
And the little lake shakes with his play. 



HOW THE SINGING WATER 
GOT TO THE TUB 

In this story I have tried to make the refrains carry 
the essential points in the content. I have tried, 
however, to subordinate the information to the pat- 
tern. This story came in response to direct questions 
during baths. 



HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO 
THE TUB 

Once there was a little singing stream of water. 
It sang whatever it did. And it did many things 
from the time it bubbled up in the far-away hills 
to the time it splashed into the dirty little boy's 
tub. It began as a little spring of water. Then 
the water was as cool as cool could be for it came 
up from the deep cool earth all hidden away from 
the sun. It came up into a little hollow scooped 
out of the earth and in the hollow were little 
pebbles. Right up through the pebbles, bubbling 
and gurgling it came. And what do you suppose 
the water did when the little hollow was all full? 
It did just what water always does, it tried to find 
a way to run down hill! One side of the little 
hollow was lower than the others and here the 
water spilled over and trickled down. And this 
is the song the water sang then : 

"I bubble up so cool 
Into the pebbly pool. 
Over the edge I spill 
And gallop down the hill !" 

221 



222 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

So the water became a little stream and began 
its long journey to the little boy's tub. And al- 
ways it wanted to run down — always down, and as 
it ran, it tinkled this song: 

"I sing, I run, 
In the shade, in the sun, 
It's always fun 
To sing and to run.' 

Sometimes it pushed under twigs and leaves; 
sometimes it made a big noise tumbling over the 
roots of trees; sometimes it flowed all quiet and 
slow through long grasses in a meadow. Once 
it came to the edge of a pretty big rock and over it 
went, splashing and crashing and dashing and 
making a fine, fine spray. 

It sang to the little birds that took their baths 
in the spray. And the little birds ruffled their 
feathers to get dry and sang back to the little 
brook. "Ching-a-ree!" they sang. It sang to the 
bunny rabbit who got his whiskers all wet when 
he took a drink. It sang to the mother deer who 
always came to the same place and licked up 
some water with her tongue. To all of these and 
many more little wild wood things the little brook 
rippled its song: 



HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB 22S 

"I sing, I run, 
In the shade, in the sun, 
It's always fun 
To sing and to run." 

But to the fish in the big dark pool under the 
rocks it sang so softly, so quietly, that only the 
fishes heard. 

Now all the time that the little brook kept run- 
ning down hill, it kept getting bigger. For every 
once in a while it would be joined by another little 
brook coming from another hillside spring. And, 
of course, the two of them were twice as large as 
each had been alone. This kept happening until 
the stream was a small river, — so big and deep 
that the horses couldn't ford it any more. Then 
people built bridges over it, and this made the 
small river feel proud. Little boats sailed in it 
too, — canoes and sail boats and row boats. Some- 
times they held a lot of little boys without any 
clothes on who jumped into the water and splashed 
and laughed and splashed and laughed. 

At last the river was strong enough to carry 
great gliding boats, with deep deep voices. 
"Toot," said the boats, "tootoot-tooooooooot!" 

And now the song of the river was low and slow 
as it answered the song of the boats: 



224 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"I grow and I flow 
As I carry the boats, 
As I carry the boats of men." 

After the little river had been running down 
hill for ever so long, it came to a place where the 
banks went up very high and steep on each side 
of it. Here something strange happened. The 
little river was stopped by an enormous wall. The 
wall was made of stone and cement and it stretched 
right across the river from one bank to the other. 
The little river couldn't get through the wall, so 
it just filled up behind it. It filled and filled until 
it found that it had spread out into a real little 
lake. Only the people who walked around it 
called it a reservoir! 

Now in the wall was just one opening down 
near the bottom. And what do you suppose that 
led to? A pipe! But the pipe was so big that 
an elephant could have walked down it swinging 
his trunk! Only, of course, there wasn't any ele- 
phant there. 

Now the little river didn't like to have his race 
down hill stopped. So he began muttering to 
himself: 

"What shall I do, oh, what shall I do ? 
Here's a big dam and I can't get through ! 



HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB 225 

Behind the dam I fill and fill 
But I want to go running and running down hill ! 
If the pipe at the bottom will let me through 
I'll run through the pipe I That's what I'll do 1" 

So he rushed into the pipe as fast as he could 
for there he found he could run down hill again ! 
He ran and he ran for miles and miles. Above 
him he knew there were green fields and trees and 
cows and horses. These were the things he had 
sung to before he rushed into the pipe. Then 
after a long time he knew he was under something 
different. He could feel thousands of feet scurry- 
ing this way and that; he could feel thousands of 
horses pulling carriages and wagons and trucks; 
he could feel cars, subways, engines; — he could 
feel so many things crossing him that he wondered 
they didn't all bump each other. Then he knew 
he was under the Big City. And this is the song 
he shouted then: 

"Way under the street, street, street, 
I feel the feet, feet, feet. 
I feel their beat, beat, beat, 
Above on the street, street, street." 

And then again something queer happened. 
Every once in a while a pipe would go off from 
the big pipe. Now one of these pipes turned into 



226 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



a certain street and then a still smaller pipe turned 
off into a certain house and a still smaller pipe 
went right up between the walls of the house. And 
in this house there lived the dirty little boy. 

The water flowed into the street pipe and then 
it flowed into the house pipe and then, — what do 




you think? — it went right up that pipe between 
the walls of the house! For you see even the top 
of that dirty little boy's house isn't nearly as high 
as the reservoir on the hill where the water started 
and the water can run up just as high as it has run 
down. 



HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB 227 

In the bathroom was the dirty little boy. His 
face was dirty, his hands were dirty, his feet were 
dirty and his knees — oh ! his knees were very, very 
dirty. This very dirty little boy went over to the 
faucet and slowly turned it. Out came the water 
splashing, and crashing and dashing. 

"My! but I need a bath tonight," said the dirty 
little boy as he heard the water splashing in the 
tub. The water was still the singing water that 
had sung all the way from the far-away hills. It 
had sung a bubbling song when it gurgled up as 
a spring; it had sung a tinkling song as it rippled 
down hill as a brook; it had crooned a flowing 
song when it bore the talking boats; it had mut- 
tered and throbbed and sung to itself as it ran 
through the big, big pipe. Now as it splashed 
into the dirty little boy's tub it laughed and sang 
this last song: 

"I run from the hill, — down, down, down, 
Under the streets of the town, town, town, 
Then in the pipe, up, up, up, 
I tumble right into your tub, tub, tub." 

And the dirty little boy laughed and jumped into 
the Singing Water I 



THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES 

An old pattern with new content. The steps in the 
process were originally dug out by a child of six 
through his own questions. 



THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES 

Once there was a small town. In the small town 
were many houses and in the houses were many 
people. In one of these houses there lived a 
mother with a great many children. One night 
after the children were all in bed and the mother 
was sitting by the fire, a brick fell down the chim- 
ney. Then another came bumping and rattling 
down. Now outside there was a great wind 
blowing. It whistled down the chimney and up 
flamed the fire. The sparks flew into the hole 
where the bricks had fallen out. The first thing 
the mother knew the house was all on fire. Still 
the great wind roared. The house next door 
caught fire, then the next, then the next, then the 
next, until half the little town was burning. The 
mother with the many children and many other 
frightened people ran to the part of the town be- 
hind the great wind. And there they stayed until 
the wind died down and they could put the fire 
out. 

Now many of these people's clothes had burned 

with their houses. The many children who had 

gone to bed before the fire began had nothing 

231 



232 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



to wear except their nightclothes. The mother 
went to the store. That too was burned ! But she 
found the storekeeper and said: — "Storekeeper, 




sell me some dresses for my children for their 
dresses have been burned and they have nothing 
to wear." 

"But, mother of the many children," the store- 
keeper replied, "first I must get me the dresses. 
For that I must send to the many-fingered factory 
in the middle of the city." 

So he sent to the many-fingered factory in the 
middle of the great city and he said : — "Clothier, 
send me some dresses that I may sell to the mother; 



THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES 283 

for her children's dresses have burned up and they 
have nothing to wear." 

But the clothier in the many-fingered factory 
replied: — "First I must get me the cloth. For 
that I must send to the weaving mill. The weav- 
ing mill is in the hills where there is water to 
turn its wheels." 

So the clothier sent to the weaving mill in the 
hills where there is water to turn its wheels and 
said : — "Weaver, send me the cloth that the many 
fingers at the factory may make dresses to send 
to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the 
mother; for her children's dresses have burned 
up and they have nothing to wear." 

But the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills 
sent back word : — "First I must get me the cotton. 
For that I must send to the cotton fields. The cot- 
ton fields are in the south where the land is hot 
and low." 

So the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills 
sent to the cotton plantation, and he said: — 
"Planter, send me the cotton from the hot low 
lands that I may make cloth in the mill in the 
hills to send to the clothier in the many-fingered 
factory in the middle of the great city to be made 
into dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small 
town to sell to the mother; for her children's 



234 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



dresses have burned up and they have nothing to 



wear. 



But the planter sent back word: — "First I must 
get the negroes to pick the cotton. For cotton 




must be picked in the hot sun and negroes are 
the only ones who can stand the sun." 

So the planter went to the negroes and he said : 
— "Pick me the cotton from the hot low lands that 
I may send it to the weaver in his mill in the hills 
that he may weave the cloth to send to the clothier 
in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the 
great city to make dresses to send to the store- 
keeper in the small town to sell to the mother; 



THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES 235 

for her children's dresses have burned up and they 
have nothing to wear." 

But the negroes answered: — "First de sun, he 
hab got to shine and shine and shine! 'Cause de 
sun, he am de only one dat can make dem little 
seed bolls bust wide open!" 

So the negroes sang to the sun: — "Big sun, so 
shiny hot! Is you gwine to shine on dem cotton 
bolls so we can pick de cotton for de massah so 
he can send it to de weaver in de weaving mills 
in de hills to weave into cloth so he can send it 
to de clothier in de many-fingered factory in de 
middle of de big city to make dresses to send to 
de storekeeper in de small town so he can sell it 
to de mammy; for de chillun's dresses hab gone 
and burned up and dey ain't got nothin' to wear!" 

Now the sun heard the song of the negroes of the 
south. And he began to shine. And he kept on 
shining on the hot low lands. And when the cotton 
bolls on the hot low lands felt the sun shine and 
shine and shine, they burst wide open. Then the 
negroes picked the cotton, the planter shipped it, 
the weaver wove it, the clothier made it into dress- 
es, and the storekeeper sold them to the mother. 

So at last the many children took off their night- 
clothes and put on their new dresses. And so 
they were all happy again! 



OLD DAN GETS THE COAL 

The occupations of the city horse are always absorb- 
ing to the school children. They have many tales about 
various "Old Dans" and their various trades. The 
docks are familiar to almost all the children, — even 
to the four-year-olds. This verse is meant to be read 
fast or slow according to whether or no the wagon 
is empty. 



OLD DAN GETS THE COAL 

Old Dan, he lives in a stable, he does, 
He sleeps in a stable stall. 
Old Dan, he eats in the stable, he does, 
He eats the hay from the manger, he does, 

He pulls the hay 

And he chews the hay 
When he eats in his stable stall. 

Old Dan, he leaves the stable, he does, 
He pulls the wagon behind. 
Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does, 
He trots with the wagon all empty, he does; 

The wagon, it clatters, 

The mud, it all spatters 
Old Dan with the wagon behind. 

Old Dan, he trots to the dock, he does, 
He trots to the coal barge dock. 
Old Dan, he stands by the barge, he does, 
He stands and the big crane creaks, it does. 

Up! into the chute, 

Bang! out of the chute 
Comes the coal at the coal barge dock! 

Old Dan, he pulls the load, he does, 

He pulls the heavy load. 

239 



240 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Old Dan he pulls the coal, he does, 
He slowly pulls the heavy coal. 

The wagon thumps, 

It bumps, it clumps 
When old Dan pulls the load. 

Old Dan, he stands by the house, he does, 
And the coal rattles out behind. 
Old Dan stands still by the house, he does, 
He stands and the slippery coal, so it does 

Goes rattlety klang! 

Zippy kabang! 
As it slides from the wagon behind! 

Old Dan, he then leaves the house, so he does, 
A-pulling the wagon behind. 
Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does, 
He trots with the wagon all empty, he does. 

The wagon it clatters, 

The mud it all spatters 
Old Dan with the wagon behind. 

Old Dan, comes home to his stable, he does, 
Home to his stable stall. 
He finds the hay in the stable, he does, 
He eats the hay from the manger, he does, 

He pulls the hay, 

He chews the hay, 
Then he sleeps in his stable stall. 



THE SUBWAY CAR 

The relationship which this story aims to clarify is 
the social significance of the subway car — its construc- 
tion and the need it answers to. Children have enjoyed 
the verse better, I think, than any other in the book. 



THE SUBWAY CAR 



The surface car is a poky car, 
It stops 'most every minute. 
At every corner someone gets out 
And someone else gets in it. 




It stops for a lady, an auto, a hoss, 
For any old thing that wants to cross, 
This poky old, stupid old, silly old, timid old, 
lumbering surface car. 
243 



244 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Up on high against the sky 
The elevated train goes by. 
Above it soars, above it roars 
On level with the second floors 
Of dirty houses, dirty stores 
Who have to see, who have to hear 
This noisy ugly monster near. 
And as it passes hear it yell, 
"I'm the deafening, deadening, thunderous, 
hideous, competent, elegant el." 

Under the ground like a mole in a hole, 

I tear through the white tiled tunnel, 

With my wire brush on the rail I rush 

From station to lighted station. 

Levers pull, the doors fly ope', 

People press against the rope. 

And some are stout and some are thin 

And some get out and some get in. 

Again I go. Beginning slow 

I race, I chase at a terrible pace, 

I flash and I dash with never a crash, 

I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry. 

I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning 

song, 
"I'm the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid 

subway car." 



THE SUBWAY CAR 245 

THE SUBWAY CAR 

Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle. 
And all the men and all the women hurried 
toward the factory. For that meant it was time 
to begin work. Each man and each woman went 
to his particular machine. The steam was up; 
the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring; 
the piston rods were shooting back and forth. And 
one man made a piece of wheel, and one man made 
a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and 
one man made a leather strap, and one man made 
a door, and one man made some straw-covered 
seats, and one man made a window-frame, and 
one man made a little wire brush. And then some 
other men took all these things and began putting 
them together. And when the car was finished 
some other men came and painted it, and on the 
side they painted the number 793. 

The car stood on the siding wondering what h ! 
was for and what he was to do. Suddenly he hea: 
another car come bumping and screeching dov 
the track. Before the new car could think what 
was happening, — bang! — the battered old car went 
smash into him. This seemed to be just what the 
man standing along side expected. For the car 
felt him swing on to the steps and shout "Go 



246 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

ahead." At the same minute the car felt a piece 
of iron slip from his own rear and hook into the 
front of the other car. 

And "go ahead" he did, though No. 793 thought 
he would be wrenched to pieces. 

"Whatever is happening to me?" he nervously- 
asked the car that was pushing him. "I feel my 
wheels going round and round underneath me and 
I can't stop them. Can't you just hear me creak? 
I'm afraid I will split in two." 

The dilapidated old thing behind simply 
screamed with delight as he jounced over a switch. 

"See here, now," he said in a rasping voice, 
"what do you think wheels are for anyway if they 
are not to go round? And if you can't hang to- 
gether in a quiet little jaunt like this, you had 
better turn into a baby carriage and be done with 
it. Say, what do you think you were made for 
anyway, Freshie?" 

With this he gave a vicious pull. Freshie 
thought it would probably loosen every carefully 
fastened bolt in his whole structure. 

"And what's more," continued the amused and 
irritated old car, "if you think all you've got to 
do is to be pulled around like a fine lady in a 
limousine, you are pretty well fooled. Wait till 



THE SUBWAY CAR 247 

you feel the juice go through you — just wait — 
that's all I say." 

"What is juice?" groaned No. 793. 

But he could get no answer except "Just wait, 
you will find out soon enough." 

In another minute he had found out. He felt 
his door pulled open and a heavy tread come 
clump, clump, clump down the whole length of 
him to the little closet room at the end. There 
he felt levers pulled and switches turned. Sud- 
denly the little wire brush underneath him 
dropped until it touched the third rail. Z-z-zr- 
zr-zr-zz-zz — What in the name of all blazes was 
happening to him? He tingled in every bolt. He 
quivered with fear. "This must be the juice!" 
Another lever was turned. He leaped forward 
on the track, jerking and thumping and creaking. 

Then he settled down and it wasn't so bad. The 
first scare was over. He did not go to pieces. On 
the contrary he felt so excited and strong that he 
almost told the old thing behind him to take off 
his brush and let himself be pulled. But he was 
afraid of the cross old car. So he ventured 
timidly: "Isn't this great? I should like to go 
flying along in the sun like this all day." 

"In the sun?" snarled his old companion. 



248 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Come now, Freshie, can't you catch on to what 
you are? You just look your fill at the old sun 
now for you won't see him again for some time." 

"Why not?" whimpered No. 793. 

But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he 
could see the track sliding down into a deep hole. 
The earth closed over him in a queer rounded 
arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same 
moment the lights all up and down his own ceil- 
ing flashed on. He noticed then that he had a 
red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the 
red, glinting reflections it threw on the tiles as 
he tore along. Ahead he could see a great cluster 
of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him. 
Of course he was really rushing towards them, 
but he was so excited he got all mixed in his ideas. 

"Where are we? And what on earth is that 
rushing towards us? And why do we come down 
here under the ground?" he screamed to the old 
car behind. 

"There's no room for us on top," jerked the old 
car. "There are a heap of people in this old city 
of New York, Freshie, and you will find 'em on 
the surface or scooting in the elevated and here 
jogging along underneath the earth." 

"People!" screamed No. 793, "I don't see any. 
What do we do with them in this hole anyway?" 



THE SUBWAY CAR 249 

Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little 
closet room in his front turn something. His wire 
brush lifted and all his strength seemed to ooze 
away. Then something clutched his wheels. He 
screeched, — yes, he really screeched, and then he 
stood still, close to the station platform. The sta- 
tion looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly 
lighted. It was jammed with people who stood 
pressed against ropes in long rows. 

A man on his own platform pulled down a 
handle and then another. He felt his end doors 
and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp, 
tramp, tramp, tramp — a hundred feet came pound- 
ing on his floor. He could feel them and some- 
how he liked the feel. He could even feel two 
small feet that walked much faster than the others, 
and in another moment he felt two little knees 
on one of his straw-covered seats. Then the 
handles were pulled again. His doors banged 
closed; z-zr-zr-rr — the brush underneath touched 
the rail and the electricity shot through him. He 
felt a hundred feet shift quickly and heavily. He 
felt his leather straps clutched by a hundred 
hands. And amid the noise he heard a little voice 
say, "Father, isn't this a brand new subway car?" 
And then he knew what he wasl 



BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS 
MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS 

This first story is an attempt to let a child discover 
the significance of his every-day environment, — of 
subways and elevated railways. Here there is no 
content new to the city child. But the relationship 
to congestion he has not always seen for himself. In 
the second story the lay-out of New York on a 
crowded island is discovered. Again the content is 
old but its significance may be new. Both these stories 
verge on the informational. 



BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS 

MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF 

TRAINS 

Many little boys and girls 

With fathers and with mothers, 
Many little boys and girls 

With sisters and with brothers, 
Many little boys and girls 

They come from far away. 
They sail and sail to big New York, 

And there they land and stay ! 
And you would never, never guess 

When they grow big and tall, 
That they had come from far away 

When they were wee and small ! 

One of the little boys who sailed and sailed until 

he came to big New York was named Boris. He 

came as the others did, with his father and his 

mother and his sisters and his brothers. He came 

from a wide green country called Russia. In that 

country he had never seen a city, never seen 

wharves with ocean steamers and ferry boats and 

tug boats and barges, — never seen a street so 

crowded you could hardly get through, had never 

253 



254 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

seen great high buildings reaching up, up, up 
to the clouds, he thought. And he had never heard 
a city, never heard the noise of elevated trains and 
surface cars and automobiles and the many, many 
hurrying feet. He often thought of the wide green 
country he had left behind, and he used to talk 




about it to his mother in a funny language you 
wouldn't understand. For Boris and his family 
still spoke Russian. But Boris was nine years old 
and he loved new things as well as old. So he 
grew to love this crowded noisy new home of his 
as well as the still wide country he had left. 
Now Boris had been in New York quite a while. 



BORIS FINDS DIFFERENT TRAINS 255 

But he hadn't been out on the streets much. One 
day he said to his mother in the funny language, 
"I think I'll take a walk!" 

"All right," she answered, "be careful you don't 
get run over by one of those queer wagons that 
run without horses!" 

"Yes I will," laughed Boris for he was a care- 
ful and a smart little boy and knew well how to 
take care of himself for all he was so little. 

So Boris went out on the street. He walked 
to the corner and waited to go across. 

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto ; 
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; 
Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck. 

He waited another minute. 

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto ; 
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; 
Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck. 

He stood there a long while watching this 

stream of autos and horses and trucks go by and 

he thought: 

"Dear me! dear me! 
What shall I do? 
The're so many things, 
I'll never get through!" 

Just then all the autos and the horses and the 



256 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



trucks stopped. They stood still right in front of 
him. And Boris saw that the big man standing 
in the middle of the street had put up his hand to 




stop them. So he scampered across. Boris didn't 
know that the big man was the traffic policeman! 
Now Boris scampered down the block to the 
next street. There he waited to go across. 

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto ; 
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; 
Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck. 

He stood there a long time watching the autos 
and horses and trucks go by. And he thought : 



BORIS FINDS DIFFERENT TRAINS 257 

"Dear me ! dear me ! 
What shall I do? 
The're so many things, 
I'll never get through!" 

Boris looked at the big policeman who stood in 
the middle of this street. After a while the big 
policeman raised his hand and all the autos and 
horses and trucks stopped and Boris scampered 
across and ran down the block to the next street 
crossing. And there the same thing happened 
again. 

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto ; 
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; 
Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck. 

"I'll not get much of a walk this way," he 
thought. "I have to wait and wait at each corner. 
And the're so many things I'll never get through." 
Just then he saw a street car. "I might take a 
car," he thought. But then he saw on the street 
a long line of cars waiting, waiting to get through. 
"It wouldn't do much good", he thought. "They're 
just like me." 

"Dear me! dear me! 
What can they do ? 
The're so many things, 
They'll never get through !" 



258 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



Then he noticed a big hole in the sidewalk. 
Down the hole went some steps and down the steps 
hurried lots and lots of people. "I wonder what 
this is?" thought Boris and down the steps he ran. 




At the bottom of the steps there was a big room 
all lined with white tile and all lighted with elec- 
tric lights. On the side was the funniest little 
house with a little window in it and a man looking 
through the window. Boris watched carefully for 



BORIS FINDS DIFFERENT TRAINS 259 

he didn't understand. Everyone went up to the 
window and gave the man 5 cents and the man 
handed out a little piece of blue paper. 

"That's a ticket," thought Boris, for he was a 
very smart little boy. "These people must be 
going somewhere." So he reached down in his 
pocket and pulled out a nickel. For all he was 
so little, and so new to New York, he knew what 
a 5 cent piece was quite well. He had to stand 
on tiptoe to hand the man his nickel and to reach 
his little blue ticket. Then he watched again. 
Everyone dropped this ticket in a funny little box 
by a funny little gate and another man moved a 
handle up and down. So Boris did just the same. 
He stood on tiptoe and dropped his ticket in the 
box and walked through the little gate to a big 
platform. And what do you think he saw there? 
A great long tunnel stretching off in both direc- 
tions, — a long tunnel all lined with white tiles! 
And on the bottom were rails! "I wonder what 
runs on that track?" thought Boris. 

Just then he heard a most terrible noise: 

Rackety, clackety, klang, klong! 
Rackety, clackety, klang, klong! 

and down the tunnel came a train of cars. "Yi- 
i-i-i — sh-sh-sh-sh !" screamed the cars and stopped 



260 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

right in front of Boris. And then what do you 
suppose happened? The doors in the car right 
in front of him flew open. Everyone stepped in. 
So did Boris. 

It was the front car. He walked to the front 
and sat down where he could look out on the 
tracks. He could also look into the funny little 
box room and see the man who pulled the levers 
and made the car go and stop. In a moment they 
started : 

Rackety, clackety, klang, klong! 
How fast! How fast! 

Then "Yi-i-i-i — sh-sh-sh-sh I" The man put on the 
brakes and they stopped at another station. In 
another moment they started again. Rackety, 
clackety, klang, klong! Then "Yi-i-i-i — sh-sh-sh- 
sh" another station ! And so they went flying from 
lighted station to lighted station through the white- 
tiled tunnel. 

Boris was very happy. He sat quite still watch- 
ing out of the window and saying with the car; 
rackety, clackety, klang, klong; rackety, clackety, 
klang, klong! "This is the way to go if you're in 
a hurry," he thought. He looked up and smiled 
to think of all the autos and horses and trucks 
above going oh! so slowly down the street I 



BORIS FINDS DIFFERENT TRAINS 261 

At last he thought he would get out. So the 
next time the man put the brakes on and the train 
yelled "Yi-i-i-i — sh-sh-sh-sh!" Boris walked 
through the open doors on to the platform, then 
through the little gate, up some long steps and 
found himself on the street again. But right near 
him what do you think he saw? A park all full of 
trees and grass! This made Boris happy for he 
hadn't seen so many trees and so much grass since 
he had left the wide country in his old home in 
Russia. A little breeze was blowing too! He 
clapped his hands and ran around and laughed and 
laughed and laughed and sang: 

"I like the grass, 
I like the trees, 
I like the sky, 
I like the breeze ! 
I touch the grass, 
I touch the trees, 
Let me play in the Park, 
Oh, please ! oh, please 1" 

So he ran all round and played in the Park. 

Suddenly he thought it was time to go home. 
He looked for the hole in the sidewalk but he 
couldn't find it. And he didn't know how to ask 
for the subway for he didn't know its name and 
he couldn't talk English. "I'll have to walk!" he 



262 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

thought. He knew he must walk south for he had 
noticed which way the sun was when he went into 
the hole in the sidewalk. And now he noticed 
again where it was and so he could tell which way 
was south. 

So Boris went out on the street. He walked to 
the corner and waited to go across. 

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto ; 
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse, 
Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck. 

He waited another minute. 

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto ; 
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; 
Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a trucK. 

He stood there a long time watching the stream 
of autos and horses and trucks go by. And he 
thought; "I'll never get home if I have to go as 
slowly as this. 

"Dear me! dear me! 
What shall I do? 
The're so many things 
I'll never get through!" 

And for all he was so smart he was a very little boy 
and he began to cry for his legs were tired and 
he was a little frightened, too. 



BORIS FINDS DIFFERENT TRAINS 263 

Just then what do you suppose he saw? Down 
the street way up in the air on a kind of trestle, 
he saw a train of cars tearing by. "That's just 
what I want! That train doesn't have to stop for 
autos and horses and things!" thought Boris and 
he ran down the street. When he got to the high 
trestle, there was a long flight of stairs. Up the 
steps went Boris. At the top he found another 
funny little room with a window in it and a man 
looking out. This time he knew just what to do. 
He stood on tiptoe and gave the man 5 cents and 
the man handed him a little red piece of paper. 
Boris took it, walked through a little gate, stood 
on tiptoe and dropped the ticket into another funny 
little box and another man moved the handle up 
and down and his ticket dropped down. And what 
do you suppose he saw from the platform? Tracks 
again! Tracks stretching out in both directions. 
He didn't have to wait on the platform long be- 
fore he heard the train coming. It seemed to say: 

"I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated train, 
I'm the elevated, elevated, elevated train!" It 
stopped right in front of Boris and Boris got into 
the front car again. Here was another man in 
another little box room moving more levers and 
making this train stop and go. And Boris could 
look right out in front and see the stations before 



264 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

he reached them. He could see bridges before 
they tore under them; he could look down and 
see the horses and the autos and the trucks. He 
smiled as he saw how slowly they had to go while 
he was racing along above them. 

So Boris was quite happy and sat very still and 
watched out of the window. Suddenly he heard 
the conductor call "Fourteenth Street!" Now that 
was one of the few English words that Boris knew 
for he lived on 14th Street. Now he was pleased 
for he knew he was near home. So he got off 
the car, ran down the long, long steps and found 
himself on the street. Down 14th Street he ran 
until he came to his house. 

"Well," called his mother. "You've been gone 
a long time! What did you see on the streets?" 

Boris smiled. "I haven't been on the streets 
much mother." 

His mother was surprised. "Where have you 
been if you haven't been on the streets?" she asked. 

Boris laughed and laughed. "There were so 
many things on the streets, so many autos and 
horses and trucks," he said, "that I couldn't go 
fast. So I found a wonderful train under the 
streets and I went out on that. And I found a won- 
derful train over the streets and I came home on 
that!" 



BORIS FINDS DIFFERENT TRAINS 265 

"Well, well," said his mother. "Trains under 
and trains over! Think of that!" And Boris did 
think of them much. And when he was in bed 
that night, he seemed to hear this little song about 
them: 

"Now out on the streets 

There everything meets 
And they're all in a hurry to go. 

But what can they do 

For they can't get through 
And all are so terribly slow? 

"But under the street 

Where nothing can meet 
The subway goes rackety, klack! 

It can dash and can race, 

It can flash and can chase, 
For there's nothing ahead on the track. 

"And over the street 

Where nothing can meet 
Is a wonderful train indeed! 

High up the stair 

Way up in the air 
It goes at remarkable speed." 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW 
YORK 

Part 1 

One morning when Boris was eating his break- 
fast, he suddenly thought of the wide green coun- 
try around his old home in Russia. I don't know 
what made him think of it. He just did! 
"Mother," he said, "I want to see some grass." 

His mother smiled. "Want to go to the Park, 
Boris?" she asked. 

"No, more grass than that even. I want to see 
it everywhere," and Boris waved his arms around. 
"I think I'll go and find lots and lots of it!" 

"I'd like to see lots and lots of grass too, Boris," 
smiled his mother. But her eyes were full of 
tears too! "But I don't know where you can go 
in New York and see grass everywhere!" 

"Then I'll go out of New York!" cried Boris. 
"If I walk far enough I'll surely find grass, 
won't I?" 

"You can try," answered his mother. Boris 

was now much bigger than when he came to New 

267 



268 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

York and could talk quite a little English too. So 
his mother let him walk over the city alone. Boris 
clapped his hands! For though he was much big- 
ger, he was still a little boy, you know! 

* Which way had I better go?" thought Boris 
when he was out on the street. "I think I'll go 
west first." So he walked west. Though the 
streets were crowded he had learned to go faster 
than when he took his first walk and discovered 
the subway and elevated. West, west, west he 
went. Street after street, — houses set close to- 
gether all the way. Then at last he saw something 
that made him run. The city came to an end! 
And there was a big river, oh! such an enormous 
river! The edge of the river was all docks, — 
docks as far as he could look. Across on the other 
side he could see another city with big chimneys 
and lots and lots of smoke. There were lots of 
boats in the river too. "Some day I'll come and 
watch them," thought Boris excitedly, "but now 
I want to find my grass." So he turned around. 
"I'll have to go east, I guess," he thought. 

So east he went. East he went until he came 
to his house. But he did not stop. He went right 
by it. "How many houses there are" he thought. 
"How many people there must be!" And still he 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK 269 

walked east. And still the houses were set close 
together street after street. After a while he saw 
something that made him run again. The city 
came to an end! And there was another big river! 
This edge too was all docks, — docks as far as he 
could look. Across on the other side he could 
see another city with big chimneys and lots of 
smoke. "Well," thought Boris, "isn't it the funni- 
est thing that when I walk west I come to a river 
and when I walk east I come to a river too I" 

Now this puzzled him so that he thought he 
must ask somebody about it. Close to him was a 
big dock and at the dock was a flat barge. A lot 
of men were unloading coal from her. He walked 
up to one. "Please," he said, "what river is this?" 

The man stopped his work for a minute. "It's 
the East River of course. Where do you come 
from, boy?" 

"From Russia," said Boris, "so you see I didn't 
know. And please, is the other river the West 
River then?" 

"What other river, boy? What are you talking 
about?" 

This made Boris feel very uncomfortable, but 
he knew there was another river in the west for 
hadn't he just walked there? So he said bravely, 



270 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"If you keep walking west you do come to an- 
other river. I know you do! For I've done it. 
And it's a bigger river than this, too !" 

The man laughed out loud. "Right you are, 
boy!" he said. "You're a great walker, you are. 
Did you walk all the way from Russia?" Now 
Boris thought the man couldn't know very much 
to ask him such a question. But, then, he didn't 
know much either. He was asking questions too! 
So he answered, "Oh! no! I came on an enormous 
boat. But please you haven't told me the name of 
the other river?" 

The man laughed louder than ever. "It's a 
funny thing, boy, that we call it the North River. 
But you are right: it is west! It's really the Hud- 
son River, boy, that's what it is. And a mighty 
big river it is too. Want to know anything more?" 
And the man turned back to his work. 

"Well," thought Boris. "I can't get to my grass 
today if I strike rivers everywhere I go." And 
he turned and walked home slowly, because he was 
sorry. And he was very, very tired too. For you 
see he had walked all the way across the city twice 
and that is a pretty long walk even for a boy the 
size of Boris. 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK 271 

Boris, he went out to walk 

To find the country wide. 
And he walked west and west he walked 

But found the Hudson wide ! 
And so he turned himself about 

And walked the other way 
And he walked east and east he walked 

And there East River lay! 



Part 2 

The next morning at breakfast, Boris suddenly 
thought again of the wide green country around 
his old home in Russia. I don't know why he 
thought of it again. He just did! And then he 
thought of the Hudson River he had found by 
walking west and of the East River he had found 
by walking east. "I might try walking north this 
time," he thought. And so he said to his mother, 
"I think I'll go on another hunt for grass, — grass 
that's everywhere!" and again he waved his arms. 

"All right," answered his mother. "But I'm 
afraid you'll have to walk a long way to find grass 
everywhere!" 

Out on the street he began to walk north. Then 
he remembered what a long long ride north in 
the subway he had had the other day. "I'd better 



272 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

take something if I want to get to the country 
wide," he thought. 

So Boris went down to the subway and took the 
train. He rode for ever and ever so long. He 
kept wondering if there were still houses above 
him or if it was all grass, — lots and lots of grass. 
"I guess I'll go up and see," he thought. So up 
he went at the next station. But there were still 
houses everywhere. They weren't so high nor 
quite so close together; but still there was no grass. 
So he kept on walking north. Then he saw some- 
thing that made him run. He could hardly be- 
lieve his eyes. There was another river! "Oh! 
dear! oh! dear!" thought Boris. "I'll never in 
the world find the country wide if I strike a river 
whatever way I go. I think I'll take the subway 
and go way, way south. Surely I can get through 
that way. West a river, east a river, north a river. 
Yes, I'll go south!" 

So again Boris went down to the subway and 
took a train going south. He stayed on it so long 
that he thought he must surely be way out in the 
country wide under grass, grass, everywhere. "I 
guess I'll go up and see," he thought. 

So up he went at the next station. But when he 
came up he found himself on a street. There were 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK 273 

high buildings all around him. He began to walk 
south. The farther he walked, the higher the 
buildings he found. At last he came to a place 
where the buildings reached up, up, up, — up to 
the clouds, he thought. He threw back his head 
to look at them, — so high above him that it made 
him almost dizzy to look at their tops. He wasn't 
sure they weren't going to fall either! Then he 




looked down again. And what did he see at the 
end of the street? Trees, yes, green trees! "Per- 
haps I am coming to the wide green country," he 
thought. And he hurried on. 



274 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

But when he got to the trees he saw that the city- 
came to an end again. And what a wonderful end 
it was too ! All around him was water, — water so 
full of boats that it made Boris gasp. When he 
looked to the west he could see a great river with 
another city on the other side. "That's the Hud- 
son," thought Boris for he remembered what the 
coal man had told him. When he looked to the 
east he could see another great river. "That's the 
East River," he thought for he remembered that 
name too. 

But what river was that out in front of him? 
Then suddenly Boris remembered. That was New 
Vork Harbor! This was where he had landed 
when he had come in the giant steamer from Rus- 
sia! Out there was Ellis Island where he had 
stayed with his father and his mother and his sisters 
and his brothers until they had been looked at! 
He thought he could see Ellis Island from where 
he stood. But there were so many islands he 
couldn't be sure. But he could see the Statue of 
Liberty, that enormous woman holding a torch 
in her hand. He was sure of that. And he could 
see the boats everywhere all over the harbor. 
Boris stood there some time just staring and listen- 
ing and staring. 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK 275 

When Boris he went out again 

To find the country wide 
And he went north and north he went 

To Harlem River's side. 

Again he turned himself about 

And went the other way 
And he went south and south he went 

And there the harbor lay 1 



Part 3 

Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come 
for. He was looking for the wide green country, 
for a place where grass grew everywhere. "This 
is the funniest thing in the world," he thought, 
scratching his head. "Wherever I walk in New 
York I come to water. So many people and water 
on every side of them! How do they ever get 
out?" As soon as he thought of this, he began to 
look around. Across the East River he could see 
a giant bridge leaping from New York over to 
another city and on the bridge were trains and cars 
shooting back and forth and autos and horses and 
people. "So that is the way they get out!" he 
thought. 

Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson 
River. "No bridges there!" he said. "It's too 



276 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

wide." Then he suddenly remembered the ferry 
boat that had brought him from Ellis Island. 
"Ferry boats, of course," he thought. And sure 
enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats 
going back and forth from New York to the other 
side and to the little islands out in the harbor too! 

Now Boris walked along thinking hard about 
all this water all around New York. Just then he 
noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in 
the sidewalk. "The Subway," he thought, for you 
remember he had been on the subway. But the 
name over the steps didn't spell "subway." He 
looked at it for a long time. At last he could read 
it. "Hudson Tubes" it said. Hudson Tubes? 
What could that mean? Boris wanted to know. 
So he walked right up to a woman coming out 
of the hole. 

"What are the Hudson Tubes and where do 
they take you?" he asked. 

The woman laughed. "They take you to New 
Jersey, of course," she said. 

"Is that over there?" Boris asked, pointing 
across the Hudson. "And do they really go under 
the Hudson River?" 

"Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want 
to go?" she answered and then Boris remembered 
what he had been hunting for. "I want to go to 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK 277 

a wide green country where there is grass every- 
where. But every way I walk in New York I 
come to water. I know because I've walked east 
and I've walked west and I've walked north and 
I've walked south," he said, feeling a little like 
crying for he was very tired and he was only a 
little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked 
nice when she smiled. "You see, boy," she said, 
"New York is an island, so of course, you come 
to water every way you walk. And it's so full 
of people that there isn't any wide green coun- 
try left, — except the Parks of course." 

"Yes, I know the Parks," said Boris, "but that 
isn't quite what I mean!" 

The woman smiled again. "There is a wide 
green country when you get out of the island," she 
said. "You'll find it some day I'm sure," and then 
the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very 
tired. So he took the subway home. When he 
came in his mother called out, "Did you find the 
wide green country, Boris?" 

"No," said Boris, "I couldn't, you see. Because 
what do you think New York is?" 

"What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, 
it's the biggest city in the world!" 

"That's not what I mean. What do you think 
it is? What is it built on I mean?" 



278 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"What is it built on? On good sound rock I 
suppose!" 

Boris laughed and laughed. "No, no," he said. 
"I mean it's an island. Every way you walk, if 
you walk long enough, you come to water. Now 
isn't that the funniest thing?" And Boris's mother 
thought it was funny too. 

"So many people and all to live on an island 1" 
she kept saying to herself. "I should think it 
would make them a lot of work!" 

And Boris who remembered the bridges and the 
ferry boats and the "tubes" thought so tool 

Boris, he went out to walk 

To find the country wide 
And he walked west and west he walked 

But he found the Hudson wide ! 
And so he turned himself about 

And walked the other way 
And he walked east and east he walked 

And there East River lay! 

But Boris he went out again 

To find the country wide 
And he went north and north he went 

To Harlem River's side. 
Again he turned himself about 

And went the other way 
And he went south and south he went 

And there the harbor lay! 



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK 279 

Then Boris scratched his head and thought : 

"Whatever way I go 
There's always water at the end 

Whatever way I go! 
New York must be an island 

An island it must be 
So many people all shut in 

By rivers and by sea 1 

They've bridges and they've ferry boats 

Across the top to go ; 
They've subways and they've Hudson tubes 

To burrow down below 
To get things in, to get things out 

How busy they must be ! 
In that enormous big New York 

On rivers and on seal" 



SPEED 

This story is a definite attempt to make the child 
aware of a new relationship in his familiar environ- 
ment. 

The verse is for the older children. The story has 
lent itself well to dramatization. 



SPEED 

Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His 
back was broad, his horns were long and his eyes 
were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering 
down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he 
walked along he swung from side to side care- 
fully putting down his small feet. And this is 
what he thought : 

"I am pleased with myself — so large, so broad, 
so strong am I. Is there anyone else who can 
pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who 
can plow so straight a furrow? What would the 
world do without me?" 

Just then he heard something tearing along the 
road behind him. "Clopperty, clopperty, clop- 
perty, clopperty." In a moment up dashed a big, 
black horse. 

"Greetings," lowed the ox, slowly turning his 

large gentle eyes on the excited horse. "Why such 

haste, my brother?" The horse tossed his mane. 

"I'm in a hurry," he snorted, "because I'm made 

to go fast. Why, I can go ten miles while you 

crawl one! The world has no more use for a great 

283 



284 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

white snail like you. But if you want speed, I'm 
just what you need. Watch how fast I go!" and 
clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road. 
As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought 
of what he had heard. 

"He called me a great white snail! He said he 
could go ten miles while I crawled one! Surely 
this swift horse is more wonderful than I !" 

Now as the horse went frisking along this is 
what he thought. "I am pleased with myself. I 
am sleek, I am swift — swifter than the ox. What 
would the world do without me?" 

Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. 
He glanced up. The sound came from a wire 
taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning 
wheels coming a Kathump, kathump." And what 
do you think that poor frightened horse saw com- 
ing along the road? A self -moving car with a 
trolley overhead touching the singing wire! His 
eyes stuck out of his head and his rnane stood on 
end he was so scared. What made it go, he won- 
dered. 

"Hello, clodhopper," shrieked the electric car. 
"I didn't know there were any of you four-footed 
curiosities left. Surely the world has no more use 
for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an 
hour; where you carry one man, I carry ten. If 



SPEED 285 

you want speed I'm just what you need. Just 
watch me!" He was gone leaving only the hum- 
ming wire overhead. The poor horse thought of 
what he had heard. 

"He called me a clodhopper! He said he could 
go in an hour where I take half a day! Surely 
this swift car is more wonderful than 1 1" 

Now the trolley went swinging on his way think- 
ing, "I am pleased with myself. My power is the 
same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am swift, 
— swifter than the ox — swifter than the horse. 
What would the world do without me?" 

Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It 
sounded like a mightly monster coughing his life 
away. "Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug." Then 
to his horror he saw coming across the green field 
a gigantic iron creature with black smoke and fiery 
sparks streaming from a nose on top of his head. 

"Well, slowpoke," screamed the engine as he 
came near the car. "Out o' breath? No wonder. 
You're not made to go fast like me, for I move 
by the great power of steam. Look at my mon- 
strous boilers; see my hot fire. Where you go in 
half a day, I go in an hour ; where you carry one 
man I carry twenty. If you want speed I'm just 
what you need ! Goodbye. Take your time, slow 
coach." And chug, chug, he was off leaving only 



286 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



a trail of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trol- 
ley car thought of what he had heard. 

"He called me a slowpoke! He said he could 
go in an hour where I take a half day! Surely 
this ugly engine is greater than 1 1" 

Now the engine raced down to the freight depot 




which was near the great shipping docks. As he 
waited to be loaded he thought: 

"I am pleased with myself. I am swift — swifter 
than the ox, swifter than the horse, swifter than 
the electric car. What would the world do with- 
out me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere " 



SPEED 287 

Just here he was interrupted by the deep boom- 
ing voice of a freight steamer lying alongside the 
wharf. "Tooooot" is what the voice said, "you 
ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere? 
What about the water? Can you go to France and 
back again? It's only I who can haul the world's 
goods across the ocean ! And even where you can 
go, you never get trusted if they can possibly trust 
me, now do you ? Did you ever think why men use 
river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think 
why men cut the great Panama Canal so that sea 
could flow into sea? Well, it's simply because 
they're smart and prefer me to you when they can 
get me. You eat too much coal with your speed, — 
that's what the trouble is with you — you ridiculous 
landlubber!" 

This long speech made the old steamer quite 
hoarse so he cleared his throat with a long 
"Toooot" and sank into silence. 

"Of course, what he says is true," thought the 
engine. "At the same time it is equally true that 
on land I do serve everyone, I go everywhere " 

Just here he was interrupted again by a most un- 
expected noise. It sounded half like a steel giggle, 
half like a brass hiccough. It made the engine un- 
easy. He was sure someone was laughing at him. 



288 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted 
up a funny little automobile who was laughing 
and laughing and shaking frantically like this and 
going "zzzzz." 

"You silly little road beetle," shouted the great 
engine, "What on earth's the matter with you?" 

The automobile gave one violent shake, turned 
off his spark and said in an orderly voice, "It 
struck my funny bone to hear you say you went 
everywhere on land, that's all. Don't you realize 
you're an old fuss budget with your steam and your 
boiler and your fire and what not? You're tied 
to your rails and if everything about your old tracks 
isn't kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or 
do some fool thing. Now I'm the one that can 
endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you 
just sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and 
watch me take that hill! Honk, honk!" And he 
was off up the hill. 

The engine slowly turned back his headlight till 
the light shone full on his shiny rails. He thought 
of what he had heard. "He called me a rail- 
clinger — yes, that I am. How can that prepos- 
terous little beetle run without tracks? I'm afraid 
he's more wonderful than I." 

Now the automobile went jouncing and bounc- 



SPEED 289 

ing up the rough road puffing merrily and think- 
ing, "I'm mightily pleased with myself. Look at 
the way I climb this hill. There's nothing really 
so wonderful as I " 

Just then he heard a sound that made his engine 
boil with fright. Dzdzdzdzdzr — it seemed to 
come right out of the sky. He got all his courage 
together and turned his searchlights up. The sight 
instantly killed his engine. Above him soared a 
giant aeroplane. It floated, it wheeled, it rose, it 
dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift. 
Down, down came the great thing. Through the 
terrific droning the automobile could just make 
out these words: 

"Dzdzdzdz. You think you're wonderful, you 
poor little creeping worm tied to the earth ! I pity 
all you slow, slow things that I look down on as 
I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse, 
horse made way for engine, car and auto but all, — 
all make way for me. For if you want speed, I'm 
just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz." 

And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a 
giant bird. The automobile watched him, too 
humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the aeroplane 
— up, up, up 'til it was out of sight. 



290 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

SPEED 

The hounds they speed with hanging tongues; 
The deer they speed with bursting lungs; 

Foxes hurry, 

Field mice scurry. 

Eagles fly 

Swift, through the sky, 
And man, his face all wrinkled with worry, 
Goes speeding by tho' he couldn't tell whyl 

But a little wild hare 

He pauses to stare 

At the daisies and baby and me 

Just sitting, — not trying to go anywhere, 

Just sitting and playing with never a care 

In the shade of a great elm tree. 

And the daisies they laugh 

As they hear the world pass, 

What is speed to the growing flowers? 

And my baby laughs 

As he sits in the grass, 

We all laugh through the sunshiny hours, — 

Through the long, dear sunshiny hours! 

For flowers and babies 

And I still know 

'Tis fun to be happy, 

'Tis fun to go slow, 

'Tis fun to take time to live and to grow. 



FIVE LITTLE BABIES 

This story was originally written because the 
children thought a negro was dirty. The songs are 
authentic. They have been enjoyed by children as 
young as four years old. 



FIVE LITTLE BABIES 

This is going to be a story about some little 
babies, — five different little babies who were born 
in five different parts of this big round world and 
didn't look alike or think alike at all. 

One little baby was all yellow. He just came 
that way. His eyes were black and slanted up in 
his little face. His hair was black and straight. 
He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk 
trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over 
them. When he looked up he saw his father's 
face was yellow and so was his mother's. And 
his father's hair was black and so was his mother's. 
And when he was a little older he saw they both 
wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with 
flowers and figures sewed all over them. But the 
baby didn't think any of this was queer, — not even 
when he grew up. For every one he knew had 
yellow skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So 
of course he thought all the world was that way. 

But long before he was old enough to notice any 

of these things he knew his mother loved her little 

293 



294 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And he 
loved to have her take him in her arms and sing 
to him, saying: 

"Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun 
Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei 
Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin. 
Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To 
Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze 
Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin." 

For all this happened in China and he was a little 
Chinese Baby. 

Another little baby was all brown. He just 
came that way. His eyes were black and his hair 
was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls 
and little silk dresses. And when he looked up 
he saw his father's face was brown and that he 
wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that 
around his mother's brown face was long soft 
hair. He saw that she wore pretty colored silk 
shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But 
the baby didn't think any of this was queer, — even 
when he grew up. He thought every one had 
brown skin and that everybody dressed like him- 
self and his father and his mother. 

But long before he was old enough to notice 



FIVE LITTLE BABIES 295 

any of these things, he knew his mother loved her 
little brown baby with black eyes. And he loved 
to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, 
saying : 

"Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare, 
Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare, 
Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah, 
Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare." 

For all this happened in India and he was a little 
Indian baby. 

Now another little baby was all black. He just 
came that way. His eyes were black and his hair 
was black and curled in tight kinky curls all over 
his little head. And this little baby didn't wear 
anything at all except a loin cloth. When he 
looked up he saw the black faces and kinky black 
hair of his father and his mother. And when 
he was a little older he saw that they didn't wear 
any clothes either except a loin cloth and a feather 
skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think 
any of this was queer, — not even when he grew 
older. He thought all the world looked and 
dressed like that. 

But long before he was old enough to notice 
any of these things, he knew his mother loved her 



296 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

little black baby with kinky black hair. And he 
loved to have her take him in her arms and sing 
to him, saying, 

"O tula, mntwana, O tula, 
Unyoko akamuko, 
Usele ezintabeni, 
Uhlu shwa izigwegwe, 
Iwa. 

O tula, mntwana, O tula, 
Unyoko w-zezobuya, 
Akupatele into enhle, 
Iwa." 

For all this happened in Africa and he was a little 
negro baby. 

Still another little baby, — he was the fourth, — 
was all red. He just came that way. His eyes 
were black and his hair was straight and black. 
He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket 
and carried around on his mother's back. He 
didn't think this was queer, even when he grew 
up. He thought all little babies were carried that 
way. And he thought all fathers and mothers had 
red skin and black hair and wore leather coats 
and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did. 

But long before he was old enough to notice any 
of these things he knew his mother loved her little 
red baby that she carried on her back, and he 



FIVE LITTLE BABIES 297 

loved to have her take him out of his basket bed 
and rock him in her arms and sing to him, saying: 

"Cheda-e 
Nakahu-kalu 

Be-be ! 
Nakahu-kalu 

Be-be ! 

E-Be-be!" 

For all this happened in America long, long ago, 
and he was a little Indian baby. 

The last little baby, and he makes five, was all 
white. He just came so too. His eyes were blue 
and his hair was gold and he looked like a little 
baby you know. And he wore dear little white 
dresses and little knitted shoes. When he looked 
up he saw his father's white skin and his mother's 
blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw 
what kind of clothes his father and his mother 
wore, — but the story doesn't tell what they were 
like. And when the baby was big enough he saw 
they all lived in a big dirty noisy city, but the 
story doesn't tell what kind of a house they lived 
in. And the story doesn't tell whether he thought 
any of these things queer when he was little or 
when he grew up; probably because you know all 
these things yourselves. But the story does tell that 



298 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

long before he was old enough to notice any of 
these things he knew his mother loved her little 
white baby with blue eyes and golden hair. And 
it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her 
arms and sing to him this song : 

"Listen, wee baby, 
I'd sing you a song; 
The arms of the mothers 
Are tender and strong, 
The arms of the mothers 
Where babies belong! 
Brown mothers and yellow 
And black and red too, 
They love their babies 
As I, dear, love you, — 
My little white blossom 
With wide eyes of blue ! 
And your wee golden head, 
I do love it, I do ! 
And your feet and your hands 
I love you there too ! 
And my love makes me sing to you 
Sing to you songs, 
Lying hushed in my arms 
Where a baby belongs !" 

For all this is happening in your own country 
every day and he is a little American baby. Per- 
haps you know his father, — perhaps you know the 
baby, — perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his 
mother sing! 



ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY 

This story made a special appeal to the school chil- 
dren because the school building was originally a 
stable in MacDougal Alley. They had even wit- 
nessed this evolution from stable to garage. The 
children have seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language 
without any sense of strangeness. 



ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY 

Once the barn was full of hay, 

Now 'tis there no more. 

I wonder why the hay has left the barn? 

The old horse stood in the stall all day. 

He wanted to be on the streets. 

He was strong, was this old horse. 

He was wise, was this old horse. 

And he was brave as well. 

And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong 

and wise and brave! 
He wanted to be on the streets, 
And he wondered what was wrong 
That now for ten long days 
No one had to come harness him up. 
Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone 

away, 
And only the stable boy had given him water and 

oats, 

And poked him hay from the loft above. 

And as the old horse thought of this 

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802 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

He reached up high with his quivering nose, 
And pushing his lips far back on his teeth, 
Pulled down a mouthful of hay. 
But as he stood chewing the hay 
Again he wondered and wondered again 
Why nobody needed him, 
Why nobody wished to drive. 

For almost every day 

Old Tom would harness him up 

To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage 

And down the alley they'd go and around to the 

front of the house. 
And there he'd stand and wait, this dear, this 

steady old horse, 
Flicking the flies with his tail, 
Till the door of the house would open wide 
And out would come his mistress dear with the 

baby in her arms, 
And running along beside 
Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved 

so well, 
Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted 

his nose and neck. 
And into the carriage they all would get, 
His mistress and baby and little boy. 
And Tom would tighten the reins a bit 



ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY 303 

And off down the street they'd go, 

Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop. 

When he was out on the streets, — 

This dear old, steady old horse, — 

He knew just what to do, when to go and when 

to stand still. 
And when with clang! clang! clang! 
Fire engines shrieked down the street 
He'd stand as still as a rock 
So his mistress and her baby were never frightened 

a bit! 
And the little boy laughed and watched and 

laughed! 
And when the great policeman, so big in the 

middle of the street, 
Held up his hand, 
The old horse stopped 
But watched him close 
For the first wave of the hand that would tell him 

to go ahead. 
Always the first to stop, 
Always the first to go, 
The old horse loved the streets. 

Now he wanted the streets. 
And while he stood and chewed his hay and won- 
dered what was wrong, 



304 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Suddenly there came a rumble 

Of noises all a-jumble, 

A quaking and a shaking 

A terrifying tremble 

Making the old horse quiver and stand still! 

It came from the alley, 

His own peaceful alley 

Where he knew every horse, every coach, every 

wagon! 
Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting, 
Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting, 
Down it came crashing 
Down it came smashing, 

Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door! 
The old horse pulled at his halter 
And strained to look round at the door. 
Out of the tail of his eye he could see 
The doors, the doors to his very own barn, 
Swing wide under the crane where they hoisted 

the hay. 
And there in the alley, oh what did he see 
This old horse with his terrified eye? 
A monster all shiny and black 
With great headlights stuck way out in front, 
With brass things that grated and groaned 
As the driver pulled this thing and that. 
And there on the back of this monster 



ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY 305 

Sat old Tom 

Who had driven him now for fifteen long years. 

And out of the mouth of the monster, as there 

opened a neat little door, 
Stepped his mistress dear 

With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms. 
And the poor horse trembled to see those that he 

loved so well 
So near this terrible monster. 
" 'Twill eat them all !" he thought. 
And for the first time in all his brave and prudent 

life 
The old horse was frightened. 
He raised his head, 
He spread his nostrils, 
He neighed with all his strength. 
His mistress dear 
Would surely hear, 
Would hear and understand! 
He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the 

little baby 
From this terrible ugly beast 
Snorting there so near! 
And his mistress dear, she heard. 
But did she understand? 
She came and laid her hand upon his quivering 

side. 



306 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

"Poor dear old horse," she said, 

"Your day is gone and you must go!" 

What could she mean? 

What could she mean? 

What could she mean? 

"You have been strong; but not so strong as is our 

new machine! 
You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing 

can know no fear ! 
You have been wise; but this machine is like a 

part of Tom. 
He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine 

obeys ! 
Poor dear old horse 
Your day is gone 
And now you too must go !" 
So that was what she meant! 
So that was what she meant! 
So that was what she meant! 

The old horse heard but how could he under- 
stand? 

How could he know that she had said 

They wanted him no longer? 

How could he know that this big monster, this 
new automobile 

Was going to do his work for them 






ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAYi 30% 

And do it better than he! 

He knew that something was wrong. 

He was puzzled and sad and frightened. 

With head drooped low and feet that dragged 

He let old Tom untie his rope 

And lead him from the stall. 

For one short moment as he passed the shiny 

automobile 
He straightened his head and widened his nostrils 
And snorted and snorted again. 
But there within the monster, lying safe upon a 

seat, 
He saw the little baby 
Laughing and all alone. 
And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and 

frightened too. 
Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide 

swinging doors 
And led him down the alley. 
Past the stables with other horses, 
Past the grooms and stable boys, 
Down the alley he knew so well 
Went the old horse for the last time. 
For he never came back again. 
They had no need of him; they liked their auto 

better! 
Down the alley he slowly went 



308 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

And as he turned into the street below 

One last long look he gave to the stable at the end, 

One last long look at his mistress dear with the 

baby in her arms, 
One last long look at the little boy waving and 

calling: "Goodbye, goodbye" 
One last long look, and then he was gonel 

Once the barn was full of hay: 

Now 'tis there no more. 

I wonder why the hay has left the barn?, 



THE WIND 

This story is composed entirely of observations on 
the wind dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year- 
old class. Every phrase (except the one word "toss") 
is theirs. The ordering only is mine. 



THE WIND 



In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing, 
But in a winter storm it growls and roars. 

Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It 
sounds like water running. It makes a singing 
sound. It blows through the grass. It blows 




against the tree and the tree bows over and bends 
way down. It whistles in the leaves and makes 
a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches 

3" 



312 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

and leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves 
off the trees and tosses them up in the air. Then 
it blows them straight in to the window and drags 
them around on the floor. It makes the leaves 
whirl and twirl. 

And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks 
around the corners. It comes blowing down the 
street. It blows the papers round and round on 
the ground. It tears them and rares them, then 
up, it takes them sailing. It sweeps around the 
house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash 
up. It blows the chickens off the trees. It makes 
the nuts come rattling down. It turns the wind- 
mill and makes the fire burn. It blows out the 
matches, it blows out the candles, it blows out the 
gas lights. It hits the people on the street. Some 
it keeps back from walking and some it pushes 
forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it 
unbuttons her leggings too and the little girl feels 
all chilly in the frisky wind. It blows up her 
skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her 
hair till she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! 
it goes, puff! puff! Then off go other hats spin- 
ning down the street. It gets under umbrellas and 
turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows 
harder and harder. The houses shake. The win- 



THE WIND 313 

dows rattle. And the people on the street are 
whirling and twirling like the leaves. 

Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars 
over the ocean and makes the waves bigger than 
the ships. The waves go up and down, and up 
and down, and the ship goes rocking and rocking, 
this way and that way, this way and that way, to 
the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back 
and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed 
on the sea. The sails are all torn to pieces by 
the storm. The masts get broken off and fall down 
on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then 
pretty soon it bumps into a rock and is wrecked 
and sinks. And all the men get drowned. 

The wind growls and roars over the mountain. 
There is thunder and lightning. The thunder 
says, "Boompety, boom, boom, boom!" The 
lightning is all shiny. The rain comes pouring 
down. The wind whistles in the trees. It blows 
a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes 
crack! and splits the tree in two. And then the 
tree catches on fire and the leaves burn like paper. 

In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing, 
But in a winter storm it growls and roars. 



THE LEAF STORY 

All the content and many of the expressions 
were taken from stories on dried leaves dictated by 
a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class. 



THE LEAF STORY 



I want to fly up in the air! 

If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves 

on my feet 
And the wind blows 
Perhaps I'll fly up in the air! 




Listen! 

Something stirs in the dried leaves^ 

The tree bends, the tree bows, 

317 



318 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

The wind sweeps through the brown leaves. 
The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance, 
They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough, 
They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves 

loose 
And are free. 
Up, up they fly! 
Little brown specks in the sky. 
They twist and they spin, 
They whirl and they twirl, 
They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air. 
Then for a moment the wind holds its breath. 
Down, down, down float the leaves, 
• Still turning and twisting, 
Still twirling and whirling, 
The brown leaves float to the earth. 
Puff! goes the wind, 
Up they fly again 
With a little soft rustling laugh. 
Then down they float. 
Down, down, down. 
On the ground the leaves go as if walking or 

running. 
They go and then they stop. 
They scurry along, 
Still twisting and turning, 
Still twirling and whirling, 



THE LEAF STORY 319 

They hurry along, 

With a soft little rustle 

They tumble, they roll and they roll. 

I want to fly up in the air! 

If I take two leaves in my hands and put two 

leaves on my feet 
And the wind blows, 
Perhaps I'll fly up in the air. 



320 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



A LOCOMOTIVE 
In the daytime, what am I ? 
In the hubbub, what am I? 
A mass of iron and of steel, 
Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel, 
A monster smoking up the sky, 
A locomotive! 
That am I! 

In the darkness, what am I? 
In the stillness, what am I? 
Streak of light across the sky, 
A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry, 
A fiery demon rushing by, 
A locomotive 
That am II 



322 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

MOON MOON 

(To the tune of "Du, du, liegst mir im herzen") 

Moon, moon, 

Shiny and silver, 
Moon, moon, 

Silver and white; 
Moon, moon, 

Whisper to children 

"Sleep through the silvery night," 
There, there, there, there, 

Sleep through the silvery night. 

Sun, sun, 

Shiny and golden, 
Sun, sun, 

Golden and gay; 
Sun, sun, 

Shout to the children 

"Wake to the sunshiny day!'* 
There, there, there, there, 

Wake to the sunshiny day. 



AUTOMOBILE SONG 

A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow, 
A-racing, chasing, off we go. 
The jolly automobile 
Whizzes along with flying wheel. 
We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up I 
Then we go s-1-i-d-i-n-g down. 
We go scooting over the hills, 
We go tooting back to town. 



SILLY WILL 

In this story I have used a device to tie together 
many isolated familiar facts. I have never found 
that six-year-old children did not readily discriminate 
the actual from the imaginary. 



SILLY WILL 
Part I 

Once there was a little boy. Now he was a 
very silly little boy, so silly that he was called 
Silly Will. He had an idea that he was tremend- 
ously smart and that he could quite well get along 
by himself in this world. This foolish idea made 
him do and say all sorts of silly things which led 
to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story 
will show. 

One day he went out walking. He walked down 
the road until he met a little girl. The little girl 
was crying. 

"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will. 

"Oh!" sobbed the little girl, "our cow has died 
and I don't know what we shall do. I don't know 
how we can get along without her milk and every- 
thing. We depended on her so!" 

"Depended on a cow !" cried Silly Will. "Who- 
ever heard of such a thing! I've often seen that 
stupid old cow of yours. Clumsy, lumbering 
thing! Cows are no good ! I wouldn't depend on 

327 



328 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

any animal, not I ! It wouldn't matter to me if all 
the cows in the world died!" And Silly Will 
strutted off down the road. 

The little girl looked after him with astonish- 
ment. "I just wish no cow would ever give that 
silly boy anything!" she thought. 

Before long he met an old woman. The old 
woman was crying too. 

"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will. 

"Oh!" cried the old woman wringing her hands. 
"Our sheep has fallen over a cliff and broken its 
legs and it's going to die. I don't know how we 
shall get along without her wool for spinning. We 
depended so much on her!" 

"Depended on a sheep!" cried Silly Will. 
"Whoever heard of such a thing! I've often heard 
your stupid old sheep bleating. Sheep are no 
good. I wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! 
It wouldn't matter to me if all the sheep in the 
world died!" And Silly Will strutted off down 
the road feeling very smart. 

The old woman looked after him greatly sur- 
prised. "Silly little boy!" she thought. "He lit- 
tle knows! I just wish no sheep would give him 
anything!" 

Then before long Silly Will met a man. The 



SILLY WILL 329 

man was sitting beside the road with his face in 
his hands. 

"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will. 

The man looked up. "Oh, our horse has died!" 
he sighed dolefully, "and I don't know how we 
can get along without him to plow for us now that 
it's seeding time. And there's not much use get- 
ting in the seeds anyway without a horse to carry 
the grain to market when it's ripe. We depended 
so on our horse!" 

"Depended on a horse!" cried Silly Will. 
"Whoever heard of such a thing! First I meet a 
little girl who says she depended on a cow for 
food: then I meet an old woman who says she 
depended on a sheep for clothes. And here is a 
man who says he depends on a horse to work and 
to carry for him! As for me, I depend on no ani- 
mal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if there 
were no animals in the world. They needn't give 
me anything! I wish they wouldn't!" 

The man looked at him greatly amazed. "Silly 
little boy!" he said. "I hope your silly wish will 
come true. How little you understand! I just 
wish tonight all the animal kingdom would leave 
you and then perhaps you would understand a 
little!" But Silly Will walked home feeling very 



330 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

smart, for he didn't understand. Silly people 
never do understand! 

Now that night a strange thing happened to 
Silly Will. I can't explain how or why it hap- 
pened. But in the middle of the night, all the ani- 
mals did leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and 
the sheep and the horse but all the animal king- 
dom! He was sound asleep in his flannel night- 
gown snuggled under warm wool blankets. Sud- 
denly he felt a jerk. What was happening? He 
sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk 
off him and disappear. He looked down. His 
night shirt was gone! He heard a faint sound 
almost like the bleating of the old woman's sheep. 
"Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!" 

Then he was aware that something queer had 
happened to his mattress. It was just an empty 
bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost 
like the neighing of the man's horse who had died. 
"Whey-ey-ey, I take back my hair!" 

He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty 
sack. 

"Hh-ss-s-hh" hissed a faint sound almost like a 
goose. "I take back my feathers!" 

"Whatever is happening?" screamed Silly Will. 
"Let me get a light." He found a match and 
struck it, but his candlestick was empty. "Ba-a- 



SILLY WILL 331 

moo-oo" said some faint voices. "I take back my 
fat!" 

By this time Silly Will was thoroughly fright- 
ened and shivering with cold besides. 

"I'd better get dressed," he thought, and groped 
his way to the chair where he had left his clothes. 
He could find only his cotton underwaist and his 
cotton shirt. His wool undershirt and drawers, 
his trousers and stockings, and his silk necktie were 
gone. And so were his leather shoes. Just the 
lacings lay on the floor. "Mooooo" he seemed to 
hear a faint sound almost like the little girl's cow 
he had made fun of in the afternoon. "I take back 
my hide." 

He put on the few cotton clothes that were left, 
but there were no buttons to hold them together. 
"Moooooo," he heard a faint voice say. "I take 
back my bones." 

Terrified he ran to the closet to see what more he 
could find. "I'll surely freeze," he thought as he 
lighted another match. "I'll slip on my coat and 
get into bed." But his warm coat with the fur col- 
lar was gone, too. "Chee, chee, chee," he seemed 
to hear a faint sound almost like the squirrel he was 
fond of frightening. "I take back my skin!" 

But he did find some cotton stockings and some 
old overalls. These he put on relieved to find they 



332 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will 
crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and 
waited for morning to come. He didn't sleep much 
for the wire spring cut into him. He was cold, too. 

As soon as it was light he hunted around for 
more clothes. He found some straw bed-room slip- 
pers. His rubbers too were there and he put them 
on over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to 
get something to eat. 

"Anyway," he thought, "those old animals can't 
get me when it comes to eating. I never did care 
much about meat." 

The pantry door squeaked as he opened it. It 
sounded for all the world like a far away barnyard 
— hens, cows, and pigs. He looked around. No 
milk, no eggs, no bacon! "Bread and butter will 
do me," he thought. 

But the butter had gone too! He opened the 
bread box. The bread was still there! He almost 
wept from relief. By hunting around he found a 
good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead 
of milk was pretty good. Then there were crackers 
and apples. His oatmeal wasn't very good with- 
out milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he 
would have plenty of vegetables and fruits and 
cereals. 

And the day was warm enough so that he didn't 



SILLY WILL 333 

mind his cotton clothes. But his feet did hurt 
him. He wondered about wooden shoes and 
thought he would try to make some. 

He was a little worried too about his bed. He 
hunted around in the house until he found two 
cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in 
place of his mattress and one on top in place of his 
blankets. So, on the whole, he thought, he could 
manage to get along. 

Poor little Silly Will! He had never before 
thought how much the animals did for him. Once 
in a while he would think of the little girl and the 
old woman and the man he had met that after- 
noon. But not for long. And he never remem- 
bered that some time winter would come. But long 
before that time came, Silly Will had got himself 
into still more trouble. For even now he didn't 
understand! 



Part 2 

From this time on nothing went well with Silly 
Will. When he had eaten the vegetables he had in 
the house he walked over to a gardener who lived 
nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other sup- 



334 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

plies for the winter. To his horror he found every- 
thing drooping and wilted and withered. "What's 
the matter with the vegetables, gardener?" asked 
Silly Will. 

"A frost," sighed the gardener. "It's killed all 
the potatoes. I hope you weren't depending on 
them?" 

"Oh, of course not," said Silly Will, gulping 
hard. "I certainly wouldn't depend on a vegetable. 
That would be too ridiculous. If the frost should 
kill all the vegetables, it would make no difference 
to me!" Nevertheless in his heart he felt unhappy 
and a little frightened at the thought of the com- 
ing winter. But still he didn't understand. Silly 
people never do understand. 

He walked on down the road saying to himself, 
"I'll go order my winter wood anyway. I'm almost 
out of it at home." Just then he looked up. He 
expected to see the green forest stretching up the 
hillside. He stared. The hillside was black smok- 
ing stumps, fallen blackened trees, white ashes! 
Beside the dead trees stood the old forester wring- 
ing his hands. Silly Will didn't even speak to him. 
He could see what had happened without asking. 
He turned around. Slowly he walked home. He 
went right to bed. He still pretended that he 
wasn't unhappy or frightened. He kept saying to 



SILLY WILL 335 

himself, "I don't really depend on the wood at all. 
Of course that would be silly! I've got coal. It 
wouldn't matter to me if all the plants left me." 
And with that thought he fell asleep. You see 
even now he didn't understand. Silly people 
never do understand. 

Now that night another strange thing happened 
to Silly Will. I can't explain how or why it hap- 
pened. But in the middle of the night all the plants 
did leave Silly Will, — not only the potatoes and the 
trees but the whole vegetable kingdom. 

He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his 
cotton clothes. Suddenly he felt the comforter and 
sheet under him jerk away and he was left lying 
on the wire spring. At the same time the com- 
forter and sheet over him disappeared. So did 
his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was 
gone. The house began to creak and rock. He 
jumped up and tore down stairs. He just got out- 
side the front door when the whole house col- 
lapsed. 

The moon was shining. Silly Will could see 
quite plainly. There stood the brick chimneys ris- 
ing out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the 
concrete foundations. There was the slate roof 
and the broken window of glass. The air was full 
of a sound like the violent trembling of many 



336 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said, 
"X take back my wood!" 

"Whatever will I do?" groaned Silly Will as he 
shivered all naked in the moonlight. Then his eye 
lighted on the kitchen stove. There it stood with 
the stove pipe all safely connected with the chim- 
ney. 

"I'll build a coal fire," he thought. There stood 
the iron coal scuttle. But alas! It was empty! 
He heard a far-away murmur like a faint wind 
stirring in giant ferns. And they said, "I take back 
my buried leaves!" 

By this time Silly Will was shaking with cold. 
"I've heard that newspapers are warm," he 
thought. But the pile behind the stove was gone. 
Again came the murmur of trees — "I take back 
my pulp," and a queer soft sound which he couldn't 
quite make out. Was it "I take back my cotton?" 

Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now. 

"I'll go somewhere to think," he said to him- 
self. So he crept down the cement steps to the 
cellar and crawled into a sheltered corner. But 
he couldn't think of anything pleasant. He could 
hear a confused noise all around him. Sometimes 
it sounded like growls, like animal cries, like ani- 
mal calls. "The animal kingdom has left him," 
it seemed to say. 



SILLY WILL 337 

Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thou- 
sand leaves. "The vegetable kingdom has left 
him," it seemed to say. 

"I've nothing to wear," sobbed Silly Will. "And 
I'm afraid I've nothing to eat." At the thought 
of food he jumped up and ran over to the cellar 
pantry. He found just three things. They did not 
make a tempting meal ! They were a crock of salt, 
a tin of soda and a porcelain pitcher of water. 

"What shall I ever do? How shall I live? I'll 
never have another glass of milk or cup of cocoa. 
I'll never have anything to wear. I'll freeze and 
I'll starve. I might just as well die nowl" And 
poor little Silly Will broke down and cried and 
cried and cried. 

"I can't live without other living things," he 
sobbed. "I can't eat only minerals and I can't keep 
warm in minerals. Everybody has to depend on 
animals and vegetables. And after all I'm only a 
little boy! I've got to have living things to keep 
alive myself !" 

Then a wonderful thing happened to Silly Will. 
I can't explain how or why it happened. Suddenly 
he felt all warm and comfortable. "Perhaps I'm 
freezing," he thought. "I've heard that people feel 
warm when they are almost frozen to death." 

Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a 



338 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

linen sheet! Surely that was a woolen blanket. 
Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat 
straight up. Surely this was his own bed : this was 
his own room : this was his own house. He could 
scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great shout. 

"Moo-oo-oo," answered a cow under a tree out- 
side his window. And the leaves of the tree rustled 
at him too. 

"Hello, old cow! Hello, old tree!" cried Silly 
Will running to the window. "Isn't it good we're 
all alive?" And when you think of it that wasn't 
a silly remark at all! 

"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the old cow. "Swish-sh- 
sh-sh," rustled the tree. And suddenly Silly Will 
thought he understood ! I wonder if he did 1 



EBEN'S COWS 

This story attempts to make an industrial process 
a background for real adventure. 



EBEN'S COWS 
Part 1 

Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows 
were looking at Eben. What Eben saw was 
twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six 
mouths chewing with a queer sidewise motion, 
twenty-six fine fat cattle, some red, some white, 
some black, some red and white, and some black 
and white, all in a bright green meadow. What 
the cows saw, held by his mother on the rail fence, 
was a fat baby with a shining face and waving 
arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy 
footsteps of the slow-moving cows as they lumbered 
toward the little figure on the fence. What the 
cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying 
a real word for the first time in its life, "Cow! cow! 
oh, cow! oh, cow!" And so with his first word 
began Eben's life-long friendship with the cows. 

Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house 
with green blinds. The cows lived in a great long 
red barn, which was connected with the little white 
farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High 
up on the great red barn was printed GREEN 

341 



342 



HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 



MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew 
how to read he knew what those big letters said, 
and he knew that the lovely rolling hills that 
ringed the farm around, were called the Green 
Mountains. In front of both house and barn 
stretched the bright green meadows where day 
after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighbor- 




ing meadow played the long-legged calves. For 
at Green Mountain Farm there were always many 
calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen 
or twenty calves a few months old. For every cow 
of course had her baby once a year. The little 



EBEN'S COWS 843 

bull calves they sold; but the little cow calves 
they raised. 

When Eben was three years old he made friends 
with the calves his own way. He wiggled through 
the bars of the gate into their pasture. The calves 
stared at him ; they sniffed at him. Then they came 
a little closer. They stared at him again. They 
sniffed at him again. Then they came closer still. 
Then one little black and white thing came right 
up to him and licked his face and hands. And 
three-year-old Eben liked the feel of the soft nose 
and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow 
smell. 

So it came about that Eben played regularly 
with the calves. It always amused his father 
Andrew to watch them together. "I never saw a 
child so crazy about cows!" he used to say. One 
day he put a pretty little new calf, — white with 
red spots, — into the pasture. Eben ran to the calf 
at once. "What shall we call the calf, Eben?" 
asked his father. "Think of some nice name for 
her." Eben put his arms around the calf's neck 
and smiled. "I call him 'ittle Sister," he said. For 
little baby sister was the only thing three-year-old 
Eben loved better than a calf. And the name stuck 
to the calves of Green Mountain Farm. From that 
time on they were always called Little Sisters! 



344 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called, 
grew apace. To her Eben was always wonderful. 
At six years he seemed equal to about anything. 
It did not surprise her at all one day to hear her 
father say, "Eben, you get the cows to-night." But 
it did surprise Eben. He had helped his father 
drive them home for years. And now he was to 
do it alone ! Down the dusty road he went, switch 
in hand, taking such big important strides that the 
footprints of his little bare feet were almost as 
far apart as a man's. The cows stood facing the 
bars. He took down the bars. The cows filed 
through one by one. Nancy and her father, wait- 
ing to help him turn the cows in at the barn, knew 
he was coming. They could see the cloud of dust 
and hear the many shuffling feet and the shrill 
boy's voice calling: "Hi, Spotty, don't you stop to 
eat ! Go 'long there, Crumplehorn, don't you know 
the way home yet! Hurry up, Redface. Can't 
you keep in the road?" Eben felt older from that 
day. 

From the day he began driving home the cows 
alone Eben took a real share in the work at the 
farm. He put the cows' heads into the stanchions 
when each one lumbered into her stall. He fed 
them hay and ensilage through the long winter 
months when the meadows were white with snow. 



EBEN'S COWS 345 

He put the cans to catch the cream and the 
skimmed milk when his father turned the sep- 
arator. He took the separator apart and carried 
it up to his mother to be washed. Nancy helped 
and talked. Only she really talked more than she 
helped ! 

Eben's talk ran much on cows. His poor 
mother read all she could in the encyclopedia, but 
even then she couldn't answer all his questions. 
Why does a cow have four stomachs? Why does 
her food come back to be chewed? Why does 
she chew sideways? Why does she have to be 
milked twice a day? Why doesn't she get out of 
the way when an auto comes down the road? 
When Eben asked his father these things the 
farmer would shake his head and answer, "I guess 
it's just because she's a cow." 

There came a very exciting day at Green 
Mountain Farm. For twenty years Andrew 
Brewster and his men had milked his cows morn- 
ing and evening. His hands were hard from the 
practice. The children loved to watch him milk. 
With every pull of his strong hands he made a 
fine white stream of milk shoot into the pail, squirt, 
squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but pull as 
he would, he could only get out a few drops. And 
even as Andrew Brewster had milked his cows 



346 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

morning and evening until his hands were horny, 
so had his father done before him. Yes, and his 
father's father, too. For three generations of 
Brewsters had hardened their hands milking cows 
on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this 
exciting day, and a new way of milking began at 
the big red barn. 

A milking machine was put in. It ran by a won- 
derful little puffing gasolene engine. It milked 
two cows at once. And it milked all twenty-six 
of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster 
could manage the whole herd alone with what 
help Eben could give him. It was a great day for 
him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too. 



Part 2 

There came another day which was even more 
exciting for the two children than when the milk- 
ing machine was put into the big red barn. This 
story is really about that day. Eben was then ten 
years old and Nancy seven. Their father and 
mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The 
two children were to be alone all day, which made 
up for not going to the fair. The children had 
long since eaten the cold dinner their mother had 



EBEN'S COWS 347 

left for them. They had done all their chores 
too. Nancy had gathered the eggs and Eben had 
chopped the kindling and brought in the wood. 
They had fed the baby chickens and given them 
water. Then they had gone to the woods for an 
afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade in 
the brook. Now they were waiting for their father 
and mother to come back. They had been wait- 
ing for a long time, for it was seven o'clock. The 
last thing their mother had called out as she drove 
off behind the two old farm horses was, "We'll be 
back by five o'clock, children." 

What could have happened? "Eben," said 
Nancy, "we'd better eat our own supper and get 
something ready for Father and Mother. I guess 
I'll try to scramble some eggs." 

"Go ahead," answered Eben. "But we're not the 
ones I'm worrying about — nor Father and Mother 
either. It's those poor cows." 

"Oh! the cows!" cried Nancy. "And the poor 
Little Sisters! They'll be so hungry." Both chil- 
dren ran to the door. "Just listen to them," said 
Eben. "They've been waiting in the barn for over 
an hour now. I certainly wish Father would 
come." From the big red barn came the lowing 
of the restless cattle. "I'm going to have another 
look at them," said Eben. "Come along, Nancy." 



348 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

The two children peered into the big dark barn. 
The unmistakable cow smell came to them strong 
in the dark. Stretching down the whole length 
was stall after stall, each holding an impatient 
cow. The children could see the restless hind feet 
moving and stamping; they could see the flicking 
of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling 
at the stanchions. On the other side were the stalls 
of the Little Sisters. They too were moving about 
wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening sound 
of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the 
gasolene engine. It was attached to a pipe which 
ran the whole length of the great barn above the 
cows' stalls. Eben's eyes followed this pipe until 
it was lost in the dark. 

"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the cow nearest at hand, so 
loud that both children jumped. "Poor old Red- 
face," said Nancy. "I wish we could help you." 
"We're going to," said Eben in an excited voice. 
"See here, Nancy. We're going to milk these 
cows!" "Why, Eben Brewster, we could never 
do it alone!" Nancy's eyes went to the gasolene 
engine as she spoke. "We've got to," said Eben. 
"That's all there is about it." 

So the children began with trembling hands. 
They lighted two lanterns. "I wish the cows 
would stop a minute," said Nancy. "I can't seem 



EBEN'S COWS 349 

to think with such a racket going on." Eben 
turned on the spark of the engine. He had done 
it before, but it seemed different to do it when his 
father wasn't standing near. Then he took the 
crank. "I hope she doesn't kick tonight," he 
wished fervently. He planted his feet firmly and 
grasped the handle! Round he swung it, around 
and around. Only the bellowing of the cows an- 
swered. He began again. Round he swung the 
handle; around and around. "Chug, chug-a-chug, 
chug, chug, chug-a-chug, chug," answered the en- 
gine. Nancy jumped with delight. "You're as 
good as a man, Eben," she cried. 

"Come now, bring the lantern," commanded 
Eben. Nancy carried the lantern and Eben a rub- 
ber tube. This tube Eben fastened on to the first 
faucet on the long pipe between the first two cows. 
This rubber tube branched into two and at the end 
of each were four hollow rubber fingers. Eben 
stuck his fingers down one. He could feel the air 
pull, pull, pull. "She's working all right, Nancy," 
he whispered in a shaking voice. "Put the pail 
here." Nancy obeyed. Eben took one bunch of 
four hollow rubber fingers and slipped one finger 
up each udder of one cow. Then he took the other 
bunch and slipped one finger up each udder of 
the second cow. The cows, feeling relief was near, 



350 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

quieted at once. "I can see the milk," screamed 
Nancy, watching a tiny glass window in the rub- 
ber tube. And sure enough, through the tube and 
out into the pail came a pulsing stream of milk. 
Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. In a few minutes 
the two cows were milked and the children moved 
on to the next pair. Nancy carried the pail and 
Eben the rubber tube which he fastened on to the 
next faucet. And in another few minutes two 
more cows were milked. So the children went the 
length of the great red barn, and gradually the 
restless lowings quieted as pail after pail was filled 
with warm white milk. 

"I wouldn't try the separator if it weren't for 
the poor Little Sisters," said Eben anxiously as 
they reached the end of the barn. "They've got 
to be fed," said Nancy. "But I can't lift those 
pails." Slowly Eben carried them one by one with 
many rests back to the separator by the gasoline 
engine. He took the strap off one wheel and put 
it around the wheel of the separator. "I can't 
lift a whole pail," sighed Eben. Taking a little 
at a time he poured the milk into the tray at the 
top of the separator. In a few minutes the yel- 
low cream came pouring out of one spout and the 
blue skimmed milk out of another. In another 
few minutes the calves were drinking the warm 



EBEN'S COWS 351 

skimmed milk. "There, Little Sisters, poor, 
hungry Little Sisters," said Nancy, as she watched 
their eager pink tongues. 

Eben turned off the engine. "I'm sorry I 
couldn't do the final hand milking," he said. "I 
wonder if we'd better turn the cows out?" Be- 
fore Nancy could answer both children heard a 
sound. They held their breath. Surely those were 
horses' feet! Cloppety clop clop clop cloppety 
clop clop clop. Up to the barn door dashed the 
old farm horses. From the dark outside the chil- 
dren heard their mother's voice, "Children, chil- 
dren, are you there? The harness broke and I 
thought we'd never get home." Carrying a lan- 
tern apiece the children rushed out and into her 
arms. "Here, Eben," called his father. "You 
take the horses quick. I must get started milking 
right away. Those poor cows!" The children 
were too excited to talk plainly. They both jab- 
bered at once. Then each took a hand of their 
father and led him into the great red barn. There 
by the light of the lanterns Andrew Brewster could 
see the pails of warm white milk and yellow 
cream. He stared at the quiet cows and at the Lit- 
tle Sisters. Then he stared at Eben and Nancy. 
"Yes," cried both children together. "We did it. 
We did it ourselves!" 



THE SKY SCRAPER 

The story tries to assemble into a related form 
many facts well-known to seven-year-olds and to 
present the whole as a modern industrial process. 



THE SKY SCRAPER 

Once in an enormous city, men built an enor- 
mous building. Deep they built it, deep into the 
ground ; high they built it, high into the air. Now 
that it is finished the men who walk about its feet 
forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But 
they can never forget how high into the blue it 
soars. Their necks ache when they throw back 
their heads to see to the top. For, of all the build- 
ings in the world, this sky scraper is the highest. 

The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great 
city. From its top one can see the city, one can 
hear the city, one can smell the city — the city 
where men live and work. One can see the 
crowded streets full of tiny men and tiny automo- 
biles, the riverside with its baby warehouses and 
its baby docks, the river with its toy bridges and 
toy giant steamers and tug boats and barges and 
ferries. The city noise, — the distant, rumbling, 
grumbling noise, — sounds like the purring of a 
far-away giant beast. And over it all lies the smell 
of gas and smoke. 

The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great 

355 



356 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

city. But from its top in the blue, blue sky one 
can see all over the land. Landward the fields 
spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist 
and smoke. Seaward lies the vast, the tremendous 
stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the crinkled, the 
far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky. 

Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men 
— of many, many men. Its lofty lacy tower was 
first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes 
he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly 
he drew its outline. Then at his office many men 
with T squares and with compasses, sitting at high 
long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far 
into the nights till all the plans were ready. 

Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first 
men brought mighty steam shovels. One hundred 
feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic 
mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock 
and the clay. Huge hulks they clutched from this 
underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks 
and crashed out on the upper land. Deep they 
dug, deep into the ground till they found the firm 
bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this 
terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers 
they poured tons of sand and cement and gravel 
which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to 
strengthen the steel supports. 



THE SKY SCRAPER 



357 



At last, — and that was an exciting day, — the 
great beams began to rise. Again the derricks 
ground, as slowly, steadily, accurately, they swung 
each beam to its place. A thousand men swarmed 
over the steel bones, some throwing red-hot rivets, 
others catching them in pails, all to the song of 
the rivet driver. 

The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled. 
It pierced the air of the narrow streets. On the 




nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The sky 
scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quiver- 



358 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

ing, throbbing, shrieking shrill, — by the song of 
the riveter. Story by story the sky scraper grew, 
a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and 
ever as it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the 
drill. 

At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy 
stories high. Then swiftly came the stone masons 
and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its 
center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly 
worked the electrician, the plumber, the carpen- 
ter. All workmen were called and all workmen 
came. The world listened to the call of this sky 
scraper standing in the heart of the great city. 
From the mines of Minnesota to the swamps of 
Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long, 
long ago, in olden days, the churches grew slowly 
bit by bit, as one man carved a door post here and 
another fitted a window there, each planning his 
own part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew 
in haste. Its parts were made in factories scattered 
the country over. Each factory was ready with a 
part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring 
them to its feet. The sky scraper grew in haste. 
For it the many worked as one. 

Planned by those who command and reared by 
those who obey, in an enormous city men built this 
enormous building. Deep they built it, deep into 



THE SKY SCRAPER 359 

the ground; high they built it, high into the air. 
And now they use this building built by them. 




The sky scraper houses an army of ten thousand 
men. All day they clamber up and down its core 



360 HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK 

like insects in a giant tree. They buzz and buzz, 
and then go home. 

But there with the shadowy silent streets at its 
feet stands the lofty sky scraper. On its head there 
glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce through 
the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild, 
the light struggles through to the frightened boats 
tossing on the mountain waves. The storm howls 
and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with 
the shining light on top. The storms beat on its 
side, the tower leans in the wind, the tower of 
steel and of stone leans and leans a full two feet. 
Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel 
and of stone swings back to straightness again. 

And so in the enormous city men built this enor- 
mous building. Deep they built it, deep into the 
ground ; high, they built it, high into the air. Now 
that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet 
forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But 
they can never forget how high into the blue it 
soars. Their necks ache when they throw back 
their heads to see to the top. For of all the build- 
ings in the world this sky scraper is the highest. 

END 



